The Trial of James H. Johnson: At the March Term, 1859, of ...

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THE TRIAL OF

JAMES H. JOHNSON, AT THE MARCH TERM, 1859,

Of the Circuit Court of Rappahannock County Va,,

CHARGED WITH

JP The Poisoning of his Wife, <v-j •• *i By Administering to her Strychnia.

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TOGETHER WITH

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M SHORT BIOGRAPHY OF THE CRIMINAL,

TIE EVUEIC! ADDUCED IT HE TRIAL,

vs 'The Letters of his Isar amour <*

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AND THE

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Medical Evidence adduced on the Occasion,

INCLUDING THAT OF

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*k ‘rylj PROF. R. E. ROGERS, OF THE UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA. '

:yD fllgo, ao ^ccotinf of il}6 £xeci|iioii. •J<* _ - .

L ( > BY A MEMBER OF TIIE RAPPAHANNOCK BAR,

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JAMES H. JOHNSON, i4# f'Ae 'March Term,, 1859, of the Circuit Court of liappahan-

tsock County, Virginia, charged with the poisoning of hi*

wife, by administering to her strychnia. Together with a

short Biography of the Criminal-—-the Evidence adduced at

the Trial—his liason vrith his Wife's Niece—the Murder of

their offspring—the Letters of his Paramour—and the Med¬

ical Evidence adduced on the occasion, including that of

Prof. R. E. Rogers, of the University of •Pennsylvania.

By a Neither of tie Rappahannock Bar,

. ’The trial of James IT; Joexsox, charged with the ruur-

cter of his wife, in June, last, by administering to heif

fstrichnia, came off at the March Term, 1859, of the Cir¬

cuit Court of Rappahannock County, Va. Nothing had

ever before occurred in the county, creating so deep an in¬

terest, Not less than one thousand persons were daily in.

‘attendance—some of them from a distance exceeding fifty

fcailes. .. . . ’ •) . t' v , \ .

The trial was commenced oh Mqedaj r,' the 7til of Mavrin

And lasted the entire week, Oui of a summon of near tiltrj

ft jjVRT was with diffisolty ©mpa»»«lJVi-—flh« jiamra o if w filers

w’ero as follows:

DANIEL W BOTTS,

JOHN G. PARKS,

r. M. FINKS,

DAT ID CREEL,

JAMES \Y. FLETCHER. PULLER A. HUGHES.

JAMES A. RTAPT,

LEWIS C. BOTTS.

WM. \V. BROWN,

WINTERTON MUBPHTr

ALBERT R. SINGLETON, RICHARD THORNUILL.

Counsel for the Commonwealth, J. Y. .VEjYJFEE, Esq., State' & Attorney, assisted by CHARLES B. TLBBS, Esq , oj Loudoun.— Tor the Prisoner, ROB'T E. SCOTT, of Fauquier, E. T. JOJYRS

and W. B. H. JCKLEY. of Rappahannock.

From the evidence adduced a(r the trial, it appears that

JibnNSON had been in the habit o-f saying to-bis neighbors,

shortly prior to the death of his wife, when asked how hie*

family was, that all were well save his wife, whose dtaath he

would not be surprised to occur at any time, as she was lia¬

ble to fits, spasms, or something of that nature ' while her

acquaintances proved her to be a woman in good health,

and that she upon all occasions so expressed herself. That

Johnsou had adulterous intercourse with a niece of his

wife’s, who visited the family. That be was seen with

strychnine, and sold a neighbor a portion—that be had seen

its effects upon a dog of his, which by some*means had got

a dose. Some two or three days before the death of his

wife, he purchased a few lemons. On the day of her death

he invited a young man, Mr. Carter, to his house to drink

lemonade, saying if he would go, he, Johnson, would go

with him to Washington (in Rappahannock.) Carter being

in the field, looking at Johnson’s sheep, which he proposed

to buy, but would not give the price asked. Carter consent’

cd to go to the house, but halted at the cherry tree. John¬

son went on and prepared the lemonade. When he got to

the house, he spoke to Mrs. Johnson ; asked her how she

wa-u She replied, “ I am well, and I think the only one, as the children arc all complaining.” Johnson comes with two

passes of lemonade from another room; the pitcher ©■*•»;

taming the other, being in the room where Cart or was. He

handed one glass to Mrs. Johnson, who said, “ Why don't

jou wait on Mr. Carter first ?” He replied, “Mr. Carter can

help himself from the pitcher.” Mrs. Johnson tasted, say¬

ing it was bitter. Johnson replied, he had put aloes in it,

as the Doe tor said it would be good for her. She said she

was sot sick, but drank it; and Johnson drank his, saying

it was the same as his. He, Johnson, then told Mrs. J. she

«eodl4 diimk some out of the pitcher; to rinse the glass; and

gave her half a glass full, which she drank, and then, start¬

ed out to rinse the glass again. Mrs. J. asked what he want-

•cd to rinse the glass for. He said there might be some of

the aloes left. lie then hurried Carter off, going out first;

Carter perhaps not being im the house more than five min¬

iates or less, after drinking. They rode some two miles,

when thev were overtaken bv Mr. Gearing, who was at

work on the farm of Johnson, who said Mrs. Johnson must

die very soon if not relieved. Johnson sent Gearing after

the Doctor, and he returned and found her dead, she having

Hived not more than 40 minutes after taking the lemonade.

Tie Facts which led to lie Arrest of Johnson. Oaa the evening of the llth day of June, 18J8, the citi-

xens <*£ tJae atsuaaHy tfuiet town of Washington, and adja-

>eei£t sleigh berimed, were thrown into a considerable state

of excitement, by a rumor tfe®t there had been perpetrated

in their midst, a most inhuman and diabolical murder_-

Mrs. Johkson, the wife of James II. Johnson, had died

suddenly, .and under circumstances that rendered a suspi¬

cion of foul play ©el the part of her husband, more than

probable. Various circumstances, running back as far as

185fi, tended to direct public opinion in one general current.

There appeared to be but one opinion. The facts attend¬

ing her demise, having been properly communicated to the

legal authorities, Dr. 13. F. Kinsey, acting in his capacity of

Justice of the Peace, and Coroner, by virtue of office, based

»pon the following Affidavits, issued his warrant, envpft*.

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jnsitug a-jurv of twelve citizens to enquire into the eeasa;

snd manner of her death; the names, and verdict of which,

are herewith appended:

TESTIMONY OF

JAMES IJ CARTER and FRANKLIN EE ARE A,

RAPPAHANNOCK COUNTY, TO WIT :

James Carter having been sworn, testifies as follows:

That he was at the house of James II. Johnson, on Thurs¬

day, the 10th day of June, 1858, and ho the said James H.

Johnson proposed to make a lemonade, which he did, and

I said I was in a hurry, being on a borrowed horse; hut I

would go to the cherry tree and wait until he the said Jas.

IT. Johnson had made the lemonade. After I came to the

house, he the said Jas. II. Johnson brought in two glasses

not quite full of lemonade, with aloes hitters, as he said,

which Mr. James II. Johnson and Mrs. Alice Johnson i 1 i • •. ...

drank. She said it was verv bitter, and she did not tike it.

He, Johnson, said it was like his, and it was aloes, which

Kinsey says will be good for you. After Mrs. Johnson drank

the glass, Mr. Johnson poured some lemonade out of the

pitcher, and she drank that. lie the said Johnson told her

to give him the glass and let him rinse it. Mrs. Johnson

jays, what do you want to rinse it for, there is nothing in it.

James II. Johnson says there may be a little aloes left in it.

Mr. Johnson asked me if I was ready, and I said I was, and . . • • • <.«

we started. And further this deponent saitli not.

J. 13. CARTER. Bappahankoc& County, to vn%i

James B. Carter was this day sworn fyy. m-e according to law.

June 11, 1858.' BENJ. F. KINSEY.

Rappahannock County, to wit :

Franklin Gearing having been sworn, testified as follows :

I was cleaning up some wheat, and I heard a scream from

Mrs. Johnson, and 1 run to the house, and I found her sit * 4 i*

ting- in a chair, with her hands up over her shoulder?, holt!

qf the chair nobs, and a jerking, and she said she was poi¬

soned ; and I replied, I reckon not; and she said she. wgs,

a.nd wanted or requested me to give her the white of an,

egg. i held her whilst the black man gave her one, and X

gave her one or two myself, and; she remarked that Mr.

Johnson \v^s going after her little son Saturday or Sunday,,

and he wanted her out of his way, and that she. was point-

blank like the dog which had got something that had been,

put up stairs to kill rats, and which the dog had got to and

eat and died, which she said was arsenic or something; and,

she said that Mr. Johnson, vyas kinder to her that day than

eonimon; and if she could get over it, she would never

drink any more from his hands, as long as she lived ; and

the last word I heard her say, she said she was poisoned.

And she said ror the last twelve months she had not been,

able to do anything to please him \ but I have never seen

any thing like it myself. Mrs. Johnson told me that her

daughter Nancy had asked her if she was going to die, and

she said yes-, that her Papa had poisoned me. I have heard '

Mr. Johnson, say at the table, several times, that she ought

to stop drinking tea, or so much of it, or it would be the death of her. Aud further this deponent saith uot.

FRANKLIN GEARING.

Rappahannock County, to, wit :

Franklin Gearing ihis day was sworn by me according to law..

June 11th, 1858. BENJAMIN F. KINSEY, i. p.

Rappahannock County, to wit :

An Inquisition taken at the hou.se, oi James II. Johnson^

i,n the County aforesaid, on, the 12th of Juup, in the year

1858, before B. F. Kinsey; a Justice of the Peace, upon the

yiew oi the body of Alice Johnson7, there lying dead. The

Jurors sworn to inquire when, how, and by what means the

said Alice Johnson came to her death, upon their oaths da

say: That on the evening of the 10th of June, 1858, the.

su,id Alice Johnson tool: poison, given to her in toddy, ad.-,

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ministered by James It. Johnson. In testimony whereof

the said Coroner and Jurors have hereto sot their hands.

(Signed) BENJ. F. KINSEY, j. t.

II. FOSTER,

A. \V. UTTERBACIv,

ANSON DEARING,

HOWARD COMPTON,

BENJAMIN F. MILLER,

BENJAMIN PARTLOW,

W. n. HOLLAND,

JAMES MOORE,

RICHARD HARRIS,

BRAXTON EASTUAM,

WM. A. DEATHERAGB.

In the Clerk's Office of Rappahannock County Court:

The foregoing is a true copy of the testimony of James

B. Carter and Franklin Gearing, reduced to writing, and

returned to the Clerk’s office of the said Court, on the 13th

day of June, 1858, with the inquest of the Coroner’s jury

over the body of Alice Johnson, and the other papers ac¬

companying the same, and placed on file in the said Offieo.

Given under my hand this 30th day of March, 1859.

B. F. PEYTON, Clerk.

It is perhaps necessary to add in connection with this,

that Dr. John S. Browning, of Flint Ilill, was summoned

hy the Coroner, to examine the body of the deceased, who,

with the assistance ot Dr. A. W. Read, of Washington,

performed a post mortem examination. Upon an examina¬

tion of the vital organs, they were found normal. Tha

stomach aud contents were preserved by Dr, Browning,

and in the absence of necessary chemical apparatus, wero

by him carried to Philadelphia and placed in the hands of

Professor Robert E. Rogers, of the University of Pennsyl¬

vania, for investigation. Professor Rogers, after an elabor¬

ate analvsis of the same, discovered unmistakable evidence

of the existence of strychnia, in both stomach and con¬

tents submitted to his examination. These facts being com¬

municated to J. Y. Menifee, Esq., Attorney for the Com¬

monwealth, he at once opened a correspondence with Pro¬

fessor Rogers, and at his earnest solicitation, accompanied

by those of the friends and relatives of the deceased, ac-

counts for his presence at the final trial and conviction of

rhe prisoner.

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In the absence of a competent Reporter, we are only en¬

abled to give a short synopsis of bis evidence and opinions

in the premises, which will be found in another part of our

record.

Dr. Rogers is an able chemist, and doubtless stands at

the head of his profession in America. He was subjected

to a severe ordeal by the able counsel employed for the de¬

fence; but, one could not but think of the anecdote of Dr.

Franklin, when he was cited before the British Parliament

to give evidence of the treasonable practices of the Ameri¬

can colonies. A friend of his, writing home, said, ‘‘Frank¬

lin’s examination appeared like a schoolmaster being exam¬

ined before a parcel of school-boys.” This was truly ap¬

plicable to Dr. Rogers and the counsel who confronted him.

Upon the. rendition of the foregoing verdict, a warrant

for the arrest of Johnson was at once issued; and after a

hearing, he was committed to the jail of Rappahannock, to

await the action of an examining Court. During the inter¬

val between the issuing of the warrant, empannelinga Coro¬

ner’s jury, and their final decision, the excitement in the

vicinity became intense. The jury met about mid-day on

the 11th, and did not close their labors until past midnight,

or rather, near the morning of the following day. It was

rumored that doubts existed in the minds of some of the

panel, in regard to Johnson’s guilt, and that they could not

agree upon a verdict. It Avas feared by many that he would

seize the occasion to make his escape; and so general did

the impression become, that volunteer squads posted them¬

selves in positions near by, guarding every avenue of’es¬

cape from the house ; and not until he was taken into cus¬

tody by the proper officer of the law, did they relax their

vigilance. He Avas at once committed to the county jail;

and on his appearance at an examining Court, was, by that

body, remanded to the custody of the jailor, to await his

trial at the folloAving term of the Circuit Superior Court of

the County. To this Term of the Court, held in Octobers

1858, a large number of Avituesses were summoned on be-

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half of the defence. Most of them were present, but tiio

few who were absent were declared by “affidavit” in due

form of law, to be essential witnesses in behalf of the pri¬

soner; and the case was consequent!}' continued. Attach¬

ments were at once issued, to compel the attendance of the

absentees at the next Term of the Court; which they did;

but, strange to say, not one of the absentees, whose mate¬

riality as witnesses \yas sworn to by the prisoner, was ex¬

amined at his trial apd conviction. It was evidently, in the

minds of the spectators, a ruse on the part of the prisoner's

counsel to gain time and in some measure allay the excite¬

ment which existed against his client. But it was a mis¬

taken idea. Curses, loud and deep, could have been heard

throughout the court-room, when it was announced that his

trial had been postponed. It did, perhaps, allay the trou¬

bled waters of public sentiment for awhile, but only to

drive them into a deeper and more rapid channel. Wo

mixed freely with the citizens and spectators on the occa¬

sion of his tinal trial, and it is our opinion in view of the

evidence offered, that, had he been acquitted by the jury,

or if they had disagreed and failed to find “murder in the

first degree,” he would have been instantly seized by the

populace and hanged on the nearest limb. On chat day wo

first obtained a view of the prisoner, since his arrest. IIo

was born in Culpeper county, Yq., now Rappahannock, in

1823, and is consequently about 36 years old though his ap¬

pearance indicates one much younger. lie is about five feet

ten inches in height; has coal black hair and eyes, ruddy

complexion, and every thing indicative of a sanguine, bil¬

lions temperament. His complexion was somewhat impair*

_cd by the imprisonment in the county jail, to which ho had

been subjected. lie was genteelly habited, in a suit of black

cloth—was heavily whiskered and moustached—his linen

spotless white—his boots highly polished—and indeed h)9

whole tout ensemble, and the general contour of his counte¬

nance indicated him to be any thing else than the black¬

hearted, remorseless villain which he has been proven to bo.

Seated within the bar of the Court, surrounded 3 bj his

counsel, he scarce dared look up, contenting himself with

casting furtive side-glances around the court-room. But, in

in no place could he meet with a sympathising eye. There

was a strong talk of “higher law,” outside the walls of the

Court-House, information of which had doubtless been

conveyed to the prisoner, through some channel or other.

"When remanded by the Court to the custody of the She¬

riff, he was impaled to his seat with fear, and earnestly be¬

sought that functionary to conduct him, by a rear way, to the

entrance of the jail. The wish was, however, not complied

with. Sheriff Miller, accompanied by a strong posse of

men detailed for the occasion, reconducted him to prison

in safety, though beset by a large and infuriated populace,

anxious to award him his deserts, and dispense with the ser¬

vices of both Judge and Jury—they to constitute one and

the whole. Indeed, one worthy had equipped himself with

a hangman’s noose, to be ready for any emergency, and

which he took care to trail close to the prisoner’s heels—-

he accompanying the act by sundry expletives not fit for

ears polite. In this manner they reached the prison, and

the poor criminal appeared to experience a feeling of relief

when once more incarcerated within its strong walls.

Of his early history we know but little. He was born of

highly honorable and respectable parents. Ilis father, a small

but well-to-do farmer, was esteemed throughout his neighborhood

for honesty and sterling integrity. We arc informed that he

accidentally lost his life in the autumn of 1849, whilst on a

bear hunting expedition in the Blue Ridge Mountains. It may

have been a beneficent dispensation of an allwise Providence to

spare the father the harrowing feeling of witnessing the sliamo

and degradation of his son. The particulars of the catastrophe

may not be uninteresting to some of our readers. He was ac¬

companied on the occasion by a young friend and companion

with whom he frequently associated in similar pursuits, and at

the time was in pursuit of a hear which had made its appearance

in the neighborhood, to the great detriment of hogs, and other

stock within its range. During the day, the bear eluded their

vigilance and pursuit. The parties in the meantime had sepa¬

rated, each taking different routes, and did not meet again until

the declining rays of the sun had cast a deep shadow over tho

dark gorges and ravines of the Blue Ridge. In one of these,

Mr. Johnson had unfortunately taken cover in a thicket of

undergrowth, and espying his companion approaching, arose to

salute him ; and in a moment received the contents of a rifle

in his body, which at once sent him into eternity. He was

mistaken for the game of which they had both been in mutual

pursuit. It is only necessary to add, that the good character

of the young gentleman in question, and the intimacy of the

parties, entirely absolved him from any suspicion of foul play

in the premises.

But to return to the subject of our sketch. Sometime during

the year 1840 or 1850, Johnson became united in the bonds of

matrimony to a Miss Alice Dulen, a highly respectable and

pious young lady of the county of Loudoun. Previous to this,

he had for some time acted as manager on the plantation of

Gov. Smith, of Fauquier county, and possibly may have been

at the time of his marriage with Miss Dulen. Of his first ac¬

quaintance with her, we have no data. The marriage appeared

to be one of affection, and lasted happily for several years ;

during which time several children were born unto them. Miss © Dulen possessed some property—probably two thousand or

more dollars, by the aid of which he was enabled to purchase

the old homestead, his father being now deceased, and leaving

other heirs besides himself, and some small incumbrance on the

estate. lie stocked the farm, commenced business, and for

some years bore the reputation of an industrious, thrifty man.

But habits of profligacy latterly overtook him, and at the time

of his arrest he was found deeply involved in debt.

His first intimacy or acquaintance with Miss Mary E.

SilREVB, who plays such a conspicuous part in this pamphlet,

appears to have been formed in Loudoun, whilst on a visit to

his wife’s relatives. She was a niece of his wife, and the

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daughter of a wealthy and most estimable gentleman of that

county. Whether any criminal intercourse existed between

them previous to her visit to him in Rappahannock county, is

pf courso unknown ; but circumstances tend strongly to show

.that such intercourse did exist. She arrived at Mr. Johnson’s

house, accompanied by him, in August, 1857, for the avowed

purpose of spending a short time with her aunt, Mrs. J., who

was said to be in declining health. This, of course, elicited

neither suspicion or remark in the neighborhood at the time.

She was a beautiful girl, about eighteen years of age, had dark

^tihtirp. hair, blue eyes, jyas educated and intelligent, quite

simple and childlike in her manners, and soon became a favorite

in the circle in which she moved. No one doubted her purity

and chastity. She had evidently been accustomed to move in

a different sphere from that of Johnson’s, and after a while it

began to be a subject of rein ark why sh.e should so long remain

under 3, roof where taste and habits were so uncongenial.^

Charity attributed it to an affection for her aunt; would to God

that it had been so—but, as before intimated, she was already

Jashed on the rock of ruin, anguish and despair.

But to go back a short period. J^efoye leaving Loudoun

county in the company of Johnson, it was her intention to enter

fhe Catholic Female Seminary at Frederick City, Md., for

which, arrangements had previously been made. When John¬

son prriyed at her father’s, she was on a visit to a relative, some

tyrepty miles distant. This he ascertained, and proceeded to

Leesburg—purchased a carriage or rockaway, and set out to

visit her at the house at which she was staying. Arriving there,

Jie informed her that at his urgent solicitation, her father had

ponsented that she might accompany him home on a visit to see

her aunt—his wife—who was in ill health, and quite anxious to

have the pleasure of her society for a few weeks* Tq this sho

consented; but was anxious to return by the way of home, to

procure some necessary articles of wearing apparel. Johnson

quieted this objection by stating that he would have to return

to Loudoun on business—that he was now in a hurry, and could

then bring her such articles as she desired. This she consented

pQf and set .off in company with him.

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Of all this her parent was totally unaware; and some weeks

elapsed before he discovered that she had accompanied Johnson

to Rappahannock, lie had supposed she chose to prolong her

stay amongst her relatives, and felt no anxiety concerning her.

He was not aware of the duplicity practiced to inveigle her off,

and contented himself with a reasonable time, or at least until

she should manifest a desire to return home. IVken some months

had elapsed—near a year—her father wrote a peremptory letter

to her, ordering her to return at once to his house, under the

penalty of his severe displeasure.

This letter was taken from the post-office at Washington by

Johnson, who had his victim in his power, and it was not shown

her; but, in lieu of which, he told her he had just received a

letter from her father, granting her permission to remain with

her aunt until the following autumn. Thus things went on for

-one or two months, when another letter arrived from her parent,

and Avhich fortunately fell into her own hands. It was corro-

Moratory of the first, and went to show Johnson’s duplicity. But,

alas ! poor creature,

“ He on her womanish nature won, and

Age suspicionless, and ruined-

For he a chosen villain was at heart, And capable of deeds that durst not

Seek repentance.”

But, to return home, could not be thought of. Shame and

degradation would soon overtake her under her father’s roof. It

was but too evident to her mind that she carried within her bo¬

som the germinating fruit of a guilty passion, for which she had

bartered her eternal happiness, welfare and peace of mind.

No, she would not go. Under the roof of her' destroyer

should be exposed the fruit of their mutual guilt. To this end

the fair penitent at once assumed illness—wrote to her father to

that effect—and went so far as to have her fair tresses shaven

close, in order the better to impose the deceit. A physician

was called in attendenee, but whatever bis private i pinion may

have been in regard to the nature of her ailments, a sense of

delicacy in a professional point of view, effectually scaled his

lips so far as public inquiry was concerned.

1«

it was about this time that Madame Rumor b<e®a«ae fetu^'-y.

-aud'for once, she did not lie. Rumors of a dark and suspicion*

•eaturo began to bo circulated throughout the neighborhood ift

regard to improper intimacy between herself and Johnson.—-

Her female friends ©eased their visits, and she found herself no

longer a welcome guest at their homes, or even recognised as an

acquaintance on occasions of a casual meeting. Yet under alt

these cirajtmsfc&nees did she remain under her destroyer’s roof for

months and months,—until removed by her father to his home

in Loudoun. What her feelings were during this time can be

better imagined than described. She appeared perfectly infat¬

uated with tho fiend who had wrought her ruin, and was so lost

to all sense of shame and female delicacy as to usurp the impe¬

rial bed of her aunt; and that, too, in her presence.

The circumstances attending the bir.h of her child are un¬

known to the community, and probably ever will he. 'J hat a

ehild—a boy, was born, the offspring of her guilty career, thorp

is not a shadow of doubt, corroborated as it is by outs.de cir¬

cumstances. When In one of her letters she speaks of “my

boy-^-my baby”-“I would to God I had kept it,” and simi¬

lar expressions, it tends clearly to show that the child was born

alive—taken from her and destroyed by her remorseless sedu¬

cer, or others in conjunction with him.

It appears that the first really tangible evidence of the guilt

of Miss Mary E. Shreves, was only discovered by her family

so late as May, 1858. Suspicions had before been aroused,

growing out of her correspondence with Johnson, as is evidently

evinced in her letters to him. Some time in the month of

May, 1858, after her return home, a near female relation acci¬

dentally came in possession of a letter from James II Johnson,

which aroused her suspicions. It was addressed to Mary E.

Shreve, and was- of the most affectionate and tender nature.

He called her hiis “dove,” and used affectionate phrases in

every particular. In the latter part of his letter he said he had

that day visited the grave of their baby, and shed many

tears.” “Ho did so often, because its mother was absent.”

The lady’s opinion of Johnson had ever been of the most d:»r

74

.yu^lfal character, and her feu 13 were so wrought upon, that aft,*

at once indited a note to Aids. Johnson, warning her of in>

pending danger on the part of lira; husband. This letter, thro'

an accident, was not mailed, but had it been, would doubtless

have been intercepted by the, prisoner. Mary E. Shreve wrote

to this lady whilst in Rappahannock, saying, “she would not

come back as she went.” She told her on another occasion,

that “in about four years, she expected to.be married, and go

©If; and no one would know who shq. married, and where she

had gone.” The ma.n she married woyTd T^e about forty years

©f age, and sbe would be abopt twenty-four.*

This corresponds quite well with the relative ages of the

party—or rather, what they would have been at the time

spoken of by the fair communicant.,

In justice to the poor infatuated female, whose career w,®

have under consideration, we cannot believe that she was,

either directly or indirectly privy or cognizant of Johnson’s

design to destroy hib wife by poison. She had pot sunk

deep enough into the abyss of crime to willingly become

tho aid and instrument 61 the murucr of' her mother’s si's--

ter, her own aunt—one connected to her by the nearest ties

of blood. No! The whole tenor of the following letters,

goes to preclude such an idea. In only one of the series is

there language, upon which such a supposition could b<?

based. It is dated--, in which sIiq says, “Poor; creature! Little docs she know wluit's in,store ibr her.”—

Evidently alluding to a eon mm plated desertion of his wifei

* It is perhaps proper to state here, that, since lije above was writ¬

ten, Johnson has confessed that a child was born to her under his ' • • * roof, and that it was buried by him on a spot near- his house, which* he designated. A party of gentlemen proceeded to-.lhe plpce, and,

after a diligent search, found a portion of the remains of, the infant.

It was buried* in a shallow hole, dug in the ear.th, and its body co-'

vcrcd with a strip of chesnnt bark. This confession has been made

since his conviction. He denied positively ever having had impror

per intimacy with S-. lie said site was cncienle when she camq. tk his house—that Iter offspring was of pn mature birth, and he com

healed d to hide her il.w

ou the part of Johnson, for the purpose of obtaining a dh

yorce by law; to which step, she, on one occasion, urges

him. He was to go to Kentucky—there abide “twelve

months and a day'’—which, in her mind, was sufficient tirge

to obtain a divorce. But, of this he had no idea. It wgs

only an alluring bait, artfully thrown out more, effectually

to beguile his victim. Could his letters to her be obtained,

they would doubtless throw much light on the subject; buf

they have doubtless been destroyed, either by Miss-—

or their author, as a messenger was dispatched to her at

once, on the denouement of the affair ip Rappahannock.

In the meantime, the reader is probably anxious to know

what has become of the unfortunate Mary E. Shreve. Soon

after the development of the unfortunate events which

wrought her ruin and shame, and condemned her paramour

to an ignominious death, she left her paternal home to re?

side with a relative somewhere in the far West. We heard . „ ! 7 ■ ’ . 1 i . < . » « r

of her but few a few days ago—but not as the gay and

beautiful girl described in a preceding page ; but on the

contrary a poor, penitent, heart-broken woman. Her career

had been one wjiich gvei: tpachcs the same pnvaryiijg Ips-

son, that prostitution, though invariably the result of man’s

ipdividual villainy’ in seducing and betraying the poor be¬

ing who trusts her destiny to his keeping, is yet one of the

pgonstrous crimes pf society which dooms its daughters to

degradation and misery, from which no virtuous efforts of

their’s can ever rescue them. The philanthropist has often

asked, “Is there no remedy for this ?” We answer “Hone !”

tinless society (and here we mean females in particular) ex:

elude from their presence all men who are guilty of seduc-

tian or libertinism, or who have trifled with the sacred af-;

fection of their sex in any form. But, we fear, this is sonte-_

thing to be prayed, rather than hoped for.

THE TRIAL.

Circuit Superior Court of Rappahannock County, ^ March Term, 1859.

Judge—J OHN W. TYLER. —

Commonwealth vs. James H. Johnson,

INDICTED FOR THE MURDER OF HIS WIFE, MRS. ALICE .TOHNSOS.

The Court met at 12 o’clock, M. The usual business of

the Grand Jury being disposed of, the Clerk proceeded to call the

Commonwealth’s docket.

The first case on the Criminal Calendar was that of JAMES H.

JOHNSON, charged with the muidcr of his wife, in June, 185S,

for which a true bill had been found against him at the October

Term of the Court.

The prisoner was brought into Court—and the indictment being

read to him, he plead “ Not Guilty.”

His appearance was quite altered since his previous arraignment.

He looked wan and sallow. He had entirely divested his face of

whiskers and moustache, and wore his hair parted in front like a

female. He had been a ruddy-looking, stout, athletic man, but close

confinement and the noxious vapors of a prison, had already begun

to tell upon one accustomed to active exercise and breathing the

pure air of the Blue-Ridge mountains.

The Court-Room was crowded to suffocation. It was estimated

that near two thousand persons were present. Every spot in hear¬

ing, where a fooChold could be obtained, was occupied, and the

scramble for places, amid the loud cries of the Sheriffs, of “Order I'*

often interrupted the proceedings of the Court. The desire on the

part of the audience—strangers in particular—to obtain a sight of

the prisoner, was intense. They crowded within the bar to the great

annoyance of the Attornies engaged in the case, whilst the Clerk’s

box was so closely packed that, *hat worthy gentleman had scarcely

IT i

room to move bis elbows. Nothing but a large fund of good nature on’his part could have enabled him to stand the pressure! It ii said

that some one suggested to Judge Tyler the propriety of clearing the bar in front of the jury, and use more stringent measures to preserve silence and order in the court-room. To this, the Judge, with that equanimity of temper and good practical sense which ever distin¬

guishes him, replied that “the people were excited—that they came there to hear and see—that they had a right to do so—and so long

as therejwas no gross breach of decorum, he should not interfere.” After some delay growing out of the absence from the Court

room of some of the venire summoned by the Sheriff, the following

gentlemen were empannelled as the jury :

DANIEL TT. BOTTS,

JOHN G. PARKS,

P. M. FINKS, DAVID CREEL, JAMES W. FLETCHER, ALBERT R. SINGLETON,

JAMES A. RYAN,

WINTERTON MURPHY,

LEWIS C. BOTTS, WILLIAM W. BROWN,

PULLER A. HUGHES,

RICHARD THORNHILL.

Counsel for the Commonwealth, J. Y. MENIFEE, State’a

Attorney, assisted by C. B. TEBBS, of Loudoun county.

For the Prisoner, ROBERT E. SCOTT, of Fauquier coun¬

ty, W. B. HACKLY andE. T. JONES, of Rappahannock.

Other additional Counsel had been engaged, but subsequently

withdrew from the cause.

J. Y. Menifee, Esq., opened the case of the Commonwealth, in an eloquent speech of near two hours in length. His remarks in

summing up evidently told forcibly on the minds of the Jury.— Some of them were even affected to tears. He was followed by

Robert E. Scott, on behalf of the prisoner, in an ingenious and well framed argument, by which he expected to be enabled to es¬ tablish the innocence of his client, Sic., &c.

WITNESSES FOR THE COMMONWEALTH.

James B. Carter called, and sworn, f met with Mr. James H.

Johnson on Thursday, the 10th of June, 1858, at Richard Harris’s. Mr. Johnson proposed to me to go home with him and look at gome

sheep he had for sale. . 1 told him that I was riding a borrowed

IB

horse, and would not have time. He told me If 1 would g» aver

With him he would go to Washington with me ; after some hesita¬

tion; I 'started with him. We passed on by his house, and went

hito a field in which the sheep were running; while looking at the

sheep he proposed making us lemonade when wre got to the house-

anti I told him I Would not have time to stay; so we then started

froth the field arid went into another field in which his horses were

running. We turned the horses out of that field into the field with

the sheep ; we theh proceeded towards the house, and when we got

there he insisted upon my staying and drinking some lemonade with

him. I then told him that I would go down to the cherry tree, some

hundred yards off, to get some cherries, and when the lemonade was

ready, to call me. I don’t know whether he called me or not—I

thought I heard him call me—and I u'ent to the house. There I

met Mrs. Johnsori, and inquired after her health ; and she told me

she was well, but she believed she was the only one of the family

that was well—that the children were all sick. I took a seat, and

leaned my chair against a table. In a few minutes Mr. Johnson

came iri with two glasses—one in each hand—gave one to his wife

and kept the other himself j Mrs. Johnson then asked him why he

did not give Mr. Carter a glass of that, and he said that it had aloes

bitters in It, and that Mr. Carter did not drink spirits, rtrid Could help

himself from the pitcher that Was sitting behind him on the table:

I turned, and for the rlr.-t time noticed a pitcher, arid a glass silling

beside it. I theft poured out a glass and commenced drinking it

Mrs. Johnson complained of her'e being bitter. Mr. Johnson told

her that it was just like his, and to drink it off—that hinsey said it

would be good for her—and if she would drink it off fast she would

not taste it so'tnuth ; and When she drank.that out he would give

her some without any aloes in it; she drank it off, and lie poured

Borne lemonade from She pitcher from which I had been drinking,

and told her to drink it off and let him rinse the glass. [He used

the word “wrench.’’] She said, what do you want fo wrench the

glass for?—there is nothing in it. He said, there may b6 a little

aloes left in it. He then asked me if I was ready. I said I was,

and after taking leave of Mrs. Johnson we started. After getting

within a half or three quarters of a mile of Washington, we were

overtaken by Mr. Gearing,* who told Mr. Johnson that Mrs. Johnson

was very sick, and if not relieved, she could not live more than a

few miuutes. Johnson told Gcatiug to go after Dr. Kinsey, and hre

would go home.

ID

franklin Gearing sworn. I was clearing wheat near the It erase; Sieard Mrs. Johnson scream very loud soon after Mr. Johnson left ^ was sent for by the black gitl, ran to the house, found Mrs. Johnson sitting in a split bottom chair, in strong convulsions, throwing her head back while she grabbled at the top knobs of the chair. Said*

that *he would die, that her husband had poisoned her, as her symp- toms were just like the -dog that died shortly 'before, told turn to stir scwne raw eggs together and give her, which ’he did by Residing, liea’feead^ she seemed -better, and he laid her en the bed.'; the little daughter, some five years old, sard, Ma, are you going t© die-? She

said, yes, my child, and yam- father has | oisoned me. When she

first revived•ffee said she would never take anylhingfiora him again S then ran for th*e horse to go after the doctor, called In before I had started and found her feet and legs stiff, as were her head and hands at the beginning : found her dead when I-returned, and before, ’the doctor Arrived. Never saw Mr. Johnson rn-ktreat his wife; siever heard her complain of him before this attack of sickness. She also said that Mr. Johnson had been hinder to her that day than for a long time, that she had not been able to do anything to please Slim for ihe last twelve months. He only heard him say to her if she continued to drink se much strong tea it would be the death of

fccr.

Mr. Gearing was severely cross examined by Mr. Scott, one of defendant's counsel, but his testimony was too clear and lucid to be shaken. He graphically described Mrs. Johnson’s symptoms in

?ier dying moments—-the rigidity of her position—her distorted ‘countenance—-ks livid color—her frothing and foaming at the mouth,

accompanied by her dying declaration that she had been poisoned ?oy her 'husband. It must have been gratifying to Mr. Gearing to

lenow that his description of the symptoms of Mrs. Johnson in her last moments, corresponded precisely with those of the learned

physicians examined afterwards in regard to symp’oms indicating poisoning by s'rychnia.

By the Commoxweai.tr. Br. J. S. Browning called. Was summoned to the house of James H. Johnson, on Friday the lltlr of June, 1858, to Attend an inquest over the body of Johnson’s wife, and perform a post mortem examination. At my request, Dr. A. W. Read, of Washington, was called in, and assisted me in the

examination; I found the vital organs all healthy; removed the

Jtomacij and contents , took charge of them ; earned them (o Phil¬

adelphia and placed them in the hands of Professor Rogers for

analysis; strychnia was found in both stomach and contents. Heard

?-he evidence detailed at the inquest, and from the symptoms—their

course and termination, attendant circumstances and result of post

mortem—believed that the deceased died of poison by strychnia r

Symptoms of strychnia poisoning—tetanus and convulsions, ending

speedily in death or recovery.

Cross-Examined by Defence. Tetanic convulsions are pecu¬

liar to Tetanus—(Ideopatbic and Trauematic)—and poisoning by

strychnia and Brucia, alkoloids derived f?am mix vomita, Sfc. 1 rr

apoplexy and epilepsy the convulsions may similate those of Teta-

imis and strychnia, hut the patient would be unconscious. Believed

the color tests for strychnia, in competent hands, are relra-ble. Hare

read Dr. Taylor’s Work on Strychnia ; read it as a whole, not rn

detached sentences. Post mortem about tbi-ity-six liou-rs a-fier death ;

opened cavity of the chest; lungs healthy; heart healthy. and

empty on both sides ; extended incision—tied both orifices of the

stomach—removed it and emptied contents into a bottle ; wrapped

the stomach in paper—removed calvarium, and examined brain,

medulla oblongata and upper portion of spinal cord ; healthy. The

stomach was placed in a wide-mouthed bottle, and alcohol poured

around it in Dr. Read’s office. I added alcohol to- the contents af¬

terwards. Both bottles were sealed by me, under my private seal,

and opened by Dr. Rogers in my presence.

Testimony of Dr. A. ll~. Bead. Was summoned as a juror, ami

requested by Tr. Browning to aid Lu making post mortem examina¬

tion.

Whilst Drs. Read and Browning were standing con verging, Juliu-

son came up and begged that no examination should be made, alleg¬

ing as his reason, that the necessary mutilation of his wife’s body

would be repulsive to his feelings. Read said to him that the in¬

vestigation would lend to establish his innocence, if he were rw>t

guilty, and should therefore be. demanded by him ; that, if he were

guilty, the fact should be disclosed, by aH possible means. To ibis

he made no reply, absenting himself immediately.

Examination twenty-four hours after death. Body stiff andiigid ,

the weather being warm, petrefaclion had set in, rendering abdomen

tense and tympanitic , opened first the cavity of the chest, exposing

hroit and lungs; found heail empty and flabby, otherwise healthy ;

lings healthy ; all the great vessels free from disease or ieticn

'21

•Extending incision, came t© stum a cl i ; tied first pjloric oiihc-e

’then cardiac ; removed viscus and set aside.

Examined next into the condition of the brain, membranes, me¬

dulla oblongata and upper portion ef the spinal marrow - ail of which

organs were found in a perfectly healthy state. The contents of

the stomach were then emptied info a bottle, and the stomach itself

wrapped in papery the whole placed under the care of Dr. Brown¬

ing, for preservation and future examination.

fn reply to a question by Attorney for Commonwealth, witness

stated :—That strychnine as usually seen in the shops is a grayish

white powder, of an intensely bitter laste, soluble in about 7000

parts of cold and about 2500 parts of boiling water;—much more

soluble in alcohol, ether, &c.,— most so in chloroform, which requires

only 10 parts to 1 ; that the characteristic symptom of poisoning by

it, is convulsion ol a character denominated by the -profession Ionic,

te distinguish from another class denominated clonic, the Ionic being

a.fixed and rigid contraction of the voluntary muscles; while in the

clonic there is a rapid alternation of contraction and relaxation, as is

commonly seen in ’fits or -epilepsy. (The -term tetanic is used sy¬

nonymously with tonic, for the reason that tonic convulsions are

found only in Tetanus, either produced by a wound—and thence

denominated irttumahe—or occurring from constitutional causes, such

as exposure to intense heat, Sec., &c., then denominated idiopathic.

The term tetanoid would probably be better as applied to the Teta-

■mis, or Ionic, or tetanic convulsions produced by. strychnine, there

being marked distinction-s between ordinary Tetanus, and tetanoid

convulsions resulting from a poisonous dose of ihat substance.) —

That the convulsions produced by strychnine are sudden in their

invasion ; the patient and friends are startled by rapid transition from

health to alarming di-seaseq that the course of the attack is marked

by minutes, rarely by more than from one to three floors, only one

fatal case, that of Dr. Gardiner, having survived as much as three

hours, fn poisoning by strychnia consciousness is always retained,

the poison expending its force upon the medulla oblongata and me¬

dulla spinalis ; the cerebrahlobcs, or intellectual post ion </f the brain,

remaining intact. That strychnia probably produces death by fixing

the resphatory mu-soles, and glottis -or upper -porlien of the windpipe,

rigidly and immovably, thereby cutting off entirely (lie supply of

almospheric air, and as effectually suspending respiration as if the

rSi'bje-ci were strangulated; the empty condition of the .heart,.ic

Jtiusc cases where it is found, may result from spasm of that orga3>„

in articulo moitis ; death probably occurring in some cases from the

same cause.

From the evidence of Carter ami Gearing do you consider i*

yrobable that Ails. Johnson died of poisoning by strychnine ?

Considering the administration of a bitter substance the accession

of the sudden and invariable symptoms of poisoning by strychnia ~

the rapidly fata! result ; the failure of the post mortem examination,

to reveal any natural cause of death ; and the discovery of the-

poison in the stomach,— 1 cannot entertain a reasonable doubt that

the deceased came to her death by strychnia.

Dr. R. E Rogets-, of the University of Pennsylvania, being called!

to the standy testified, That during the last summer Bh Browning'

called upon him-, and stated that he had been commissioned by the-

Commonwealth's Attorney of Rappahannock county, Virginia, to

deliver into his-charge certain materials which he hod brought with-

him, and to request his analysis of the same for poison ; and named!

strychnia as the substance suspected ; that after taking the precau¬

tionary steps of providing himself with pure re-agents for the pur¬

pose, he entered upon-the analysis.

The materials which had been furnished to him were in- hvo>

vessels. One contained an empty human storrtach\ tied* at1 both-

extremities, and having alcohol poured around it; the ohfter con¬

tained what had been the contents of the stomach* The appearance-

of the stomach-was for the most part pale, with- a blush or slights

redness at the greater curvature, or towards the cardiac orifice ~ no

sign of disease, ulceration or corrosion- was visible about the organs

The contents of the stomach was a nearly homogeneous liquid mass,,

sontaining a few cherries, some white fibrous portion* of asparagus*,

undigested, (Hakes suspended throughout it of what had the appear¬

ance of the pulpy interior of lemon, and & single worm Lumbrkusd

about six inches in length'.

in the chemical exam:nation- of these- materials four separate

analyses were performed. The methods of G-irwood and Rogers, off

Stas and of Letheby were, with slight modifications suggested by

the circumstances, respectively pursued. In each case a nearly

white semi-crystalioe substance was obtained, which’ possessed ara

intensely bitter taste.

This substance, successively submitted to the action of su-Tphrwic

acld.-aod.'bichromate of pot ass a—of sulphuric acid. and. deutonid*

')

28

of lead, and of sulphuric acid and deutoxide of manganese, gave

evidence that it was strychnia, by the production of the character*

istic series of colors, commencing with a deep blue, and passing

successively through violet, purple and red. When a portion in

solution in sulphuric acid was placed upon platinum foil made the

positive pole of a feeble galvanic battery, the characteristic color

was produced corresponding to that which results from a similar

treatment of strychnine. The physiological, or frog test of Marshall

Hall, was next resorted to. For this purpose a portion of the semi-

crystaline substance obtained in the analysis was dissolved in weak

ascetic acid and largely diluted with water. In one experiment a

frog was immersed in the liquid, and after a short interval it became

convulsed with violent tetanic spasms, and died. In another exper¬

iment a portion of the liquid was introduced into a slight wound

made in the thigh of the animal, and after a brief interval a similar

tetanic spasm ensued, and it died. From all of these facts, Dr.

Rogers concluded that, beyond a doubt, the material which he had

obtained in the analysis of the stomach and contents was Strychnia,

Miss Lyons called. Did not know anything of the circumstances.

Her acquaintance with Mrs. Johnson was short. Went to the house

after the death of Mrs. Johnson. Saw the deceased at her residence

a short time before, when she spoke of her good health.

Mr. Corbin called. I lived with Mr. Johnson about two year*

ago—think it was in the years 1856 and 1857. Have seen him in

bed with Miss Shreve at different times. He was lying on the right

side of her—didn’t see anything else. Mrs. Johnson was usually in

a trundle bed with the children, Mr. Johnson and Miss Shreve lying

- in the other bec(—the big bed. Have se°n them thus often. Have

taken letters from the postoffice at Washington for Miss Shreve,

Went in the room to give them to her, and once held the candle for

her to read them. Johnson was in bed with her at th*J time—it was

10 or 11 o’clock at night. Saw him several times; once he covered

up his head, but I knew he was there. Mrs. Johnson was awake.

I suppose he got used to it. Could not tell if Miss Shreve was in a

family way.

Cross-Examined by Defence. The house was a large one.—

Went into Johnson’s room freely. Johnson and Miss S--

attempted no concealment. Mrs. Johnson said to witness she did

not like such proceedings ; but this was on an occasion of Ids going

sipigh-riding with Miss Shrove. Was on good terms with Mr. J.

and .1/iss S. Never heard Mrs. Johnson complain of his being in

bed with Miss S.

James Deadman called. Am p^st master at Washington, Va., or

rather, I should say, deputy post master. [Here the witness was

shown a number of letters, and asked by the prosecuting Attorney

if he could identify any of them as having been delivered from his

o$ice. These letters are the original of the ones published in the

latter part of our pamphlet ] Witness continued : Recognised two

—Recognised another, he thougbt-^especiallv the last.

Cross examined by Defence, Took particular notice of tlie

loiters in the office; had heard rumors, which led him to do so.

Miss Shreve once came in the office and wrote a letter; thinks

it was in Feb., i858. I was appointed deputy P. M. in 1857.

About the time she left, Johnson called and told rae not to mail

the letter. I of course refused, and sent it to its proper desti¬

nation. Johnson received one a short time after—about the

1st of March. [Here two letters were shown witness.] I be¬

lieve they are the letters. Both came in the same way bill. The

last letter came to the office the day Mrs. Johnson died. I de.-

livercd it to Mr. Billiard, the jailor. Usually delivered the let¬

ters to Mr. Johnson, with the exception of one, which was given

to servant.

Miss Lucinda Hoff. Heard of Mrs Johnson’s illness; went

to the house, but she was dead half an hour before I got there.

Johnson wanted me to swear she wras subject to fits, if the doc¬

tors should examine her. I'refused to do so. He complained

that his wife was not put away decently. Said he had no doubt

his wife was poisoned, but the question was, who did it? I re?

fused to swear that his wife was in ill health. She was always

healthy as far as I knew. Johnson turned off and left me.—r

Mrs. Hopper was present and heard same conversation or part

of it. I asked him, if he was satisfied his wife was poisoned,

why object to the doctor’s examining? lie hung his head and

said nothing. Was not in the habit of visiting Johnson’s house

for twelve or fifteen months before the death of his wife. Saw

her a short time before her death—perhaps a month. Ilcjr

health was generally good. Saw her at Mrs, Iloutcn’s.

25

In reply 'to a question by the Commonwealth’s Attorney,

witness further said : I quit visiting the house of Johnson, be¬

cause his conduct was such that no respectable female should

visit it. Saw and heard enough of my own knowledge. Saw

a lady, Miss Mary E. Shreve, at his house, and believed what

was said of their intimacy. Saw them in the lot together.™ Passed through the room twice; she went out with Mr. John¬

son ; staid in the kitchen. Miss Shreve sat at the table, but

exchanged no words with me or Mrs. Johnson. Johnson spoko

surly to his wife, in reply to questions asked him. Witness, in

* reply to a pointed question by the prosecuting attorney,

said : She thought Miss Shreve was pregnant—looked like

other married ladies.

Cross examined by defence. Have known Mrs. Johnson since

the birth of her first child. Have not known her sick since.—

Was at the house of Mrs. II—-—• about a month before her

death. Lived about a mile from Johnson’s house.

Mrs. Hopper called. Was informed by one of my servants

of Mrs. Johnson’s death. Went there as I usually do to any

of my neighbors, when they are in adversity or affliction.—.

Knew nothing of the post mortem examination until I got there.

Saw Johnson ; he said his wife was not in her right mind at

times. Knew Mrs. Johnson; visited her in her afflictions

(meaning on ocersions of child-birth.) Enjoyed as good health

as any -woman I know. Never heard of.her having spasms—>

never saw any thing of them. Whilst under Mr. Johnson’s

roof, never saw any thing improper in his conduct towards

Miss Shreve.

[Not cross-examined h}7 defence.

Mrs. Harris called. Know but very little. Saw Mrs. John¬

son a month before her death. Saw7 her at Mr. Ilouton’s. Sho

expressed herself thankful for the good health with which sho

had been blesSed. Two years before, I heard her reiterate the

same. I thought her a very healthy woman.

Isaac II. Hoff called. I was at Mr. Johnson’s. Mr. Lilliard

came with the coffin. Was out in the back yard. Johnson

asked L-- what he charged for the coffin. Lilliard said he

would answer him some other time. Said nothing to him about

post mortem examination. (Something was said about cabbage

seed, not-hoard by reporter.)

Cross examined by defendant's counsel. Mr. Lilliard made

the coffin. Johnson hurried Lilliard to put his wife in the cof¬

fin, saying “there was no time for a post-mortem examination.”

[Here the witness became somewhat excited at a question pro¬

pounded by counsel for the prisoner, which closed his examina¬

tion.]

Miss Susan Elliott called. Am acquainted with Mr. John-

son. Knew his wife. Heard Mr. Johnson say to his wife, about

four years ago, that he married her for riches, not for love.

Richard Harris called. Was one of the jury of inquest.—

Johnson sent for me to come to hisxoom. Called on me to be

his friend. Had previously told me that he would not be sur¬

prised to find his wife dead at any time. Mr. Johnson had

strychnia in his possession. I purchased some of it myself a

short time before the death of Mrs. Johnson.

Cross-examined by defence. I purchased the strychnia of

Johnson about two months before his wife’s death. He made no

secret of having it. I had sheep killed, and got it to poison dogs.

John Lyons called. Had but a short acquaintance with the

prisoner. Prisoner had told him that he did not think his wife

would live long ; she had spasms ; and that the doctors thought

so. Knew Mrs. Johnson, and considered her healthy. Was on

a visit to Johnson’s two weeks before her death; saw nothing

of her beimr in ill health. O

(Not cross- examined.)

William G-ore called. Mr. Johnson came to the still-house

in April, 1858, with a vial of strychnia. (Here Mr. Scott, one

of defendant’s counsel, wished to know if it was to put in the

whiskey. Laughter.) Said he got it to protect his shcep.-^-

(After some other unimportant questions, the witness was re¬

quested by the Commonwealth’s Attorney to come near the

desk, for a private interview. To this he objected, saying “ho

said nothing in the case save in public.”

(Not cross-examined)

Amos Dear called. In June Mr. Johnson was at ray hausen

Enquired in regard to the health of his family ; said he would

not be surprised to hear of the death, of his wife at any time,,

as she was subject to spells. Asked if bp could get some

lemons. This was a few days before the death of his wife.

Beniamin E. Miller called. Was at Johnson’s house, the day

of the inquest. Went at the request of the prisoner. Said he

did not want the physicians to make a post-mortem examina¬

tion ; did not know what his friends in Loudoun would think.

A. J. Brothertoii called. I went up to Johnson’s in Febru¬

ary, 1858, on a visit and partly on business. Staid all night.

Had frequently been invited there by Mr. Johnson. Whilst

Johnson and myself were sitting together, in presence of his

wife, I remarked, “It was the first night I had spent from my

family for some time.” He s?,id it was more than he could say;

he was away often. Said his wife thought he was, going to get

another woman; and if he did, (turning to Mrs. J.) could he

get her consent ? Mrs. Johnson got up and wont out of the

room,,. Johnson then said, the. reason, why she would not con¬

sent, he would not get any more children by her.. Was in Mr.

Holland’s shop on one. occasion. Mr. Johnson came in. We

Were speaking ef coffins, price, &c. Mr. Johnson, enquired the

different prices, of coffins, &c.

Here the case 'was rested by consent of counsel. Thirty-seven

witnesses had been summoned on behalf of the prisoner ; but^

out of the panel, six only were, examined. Their testimony

naught in his behalf.

mrilOM Foil THE DEFENDANT.

Elizabeth Houghton called: Was acquainted with Mr. anq

Mrs. Johnson ; lived within a mile of them ; visited them occa¬

sionally, and worked for them ; have frequently dined with

them—never saw any bad treatment on the part of Johnson

towards his wife—always thought they lived affectionately.

Hot cross-examined by Commonwealth.

Mr. Smith called. Lived with Mr. Johnson two or three.

ss

years ago. Lived with him four or five months. Saw nothing

between them—thought they lived agreeably. Never heard $

cross word between them. She was complaining whilst I was

there, but never saw her lie down.

Not Gross-examined.

Dr. B. F. Kinsey called. Here Mr. Scott, one of John¬

son’s counsel, presented a statement to the Court to the effect

that Dr. K. was seriously unwell, and unable to attend. By

consent of counsel the following paper was read, in words to

the effect, as it was not distinctly heard by the reporter :

“Mr. Johnson obtained aloes of me, as he had frequently

done before. Got some a short time before the death of his

wife ; the quantity I do not recollect. I always supposed they

were for his own use.”

31rs. Grandstaff called. Counsel for prisoner stated that

she was absent, but produced a statement from under her hand

to the effect that on one occasion she was at prisoner’s house,

Saw quinine administered to Mrs. Johnson. Mrs. J. com¬

plained of meanness of the prisoner—said he wanted to get

her out of the way, &c.

Here counsel for prisoner offered to waive further of this

testimony, if the commonwealth’s attorney would waive tho

dying declarations of Mrs. Johnson. Agreed to.

Mr. Thrift called. Was acquainted with Mrs. Johnson.

She was a Miss Dulen.

In reply to a question to the effect, witness further stated—

He did not know of any member of the family that had died

suddenly. Did not know of any peculiarity in the family in

that respect. His wife was a sister of Mrs, Johnson. Had

never heard that any of the family were subject to sudden

death.

Daniel Updike called. Was acquainted with Mr. and Mrs.

Johnson when they were married. Had occasion to visit them

frequently. Never saw any bad treatment on the part of

Johnson towards his wife. Prisoner was married in 1850. In

1851 Mrs. Johnson’s health was bad, but got better; for some

t;yo or three years after, was healthy. Toward tho latter part

of her life heard no complaint of illness. He conversed with

her a short time before her death, and she appeared cheerful

and lively. This was only his opinion.

Not cross-examined.

The evidence on Loth sides being here closed, Mr. Tebbs,

of Loudoun, commenced the prosecution on behalf of the

Commonwealth. His speech was a masterly effort, and we

regret being unable to give it entire, or even a fair synopsis

of it. To have published the speeches of counsel, would

have extended our pamphlet to a length far beyond that

originally intended, and therefore we content ourselves with

such remarks as the occasion suggested.

Mr. Tebbs prefaced his argument by saying, “He came

not there to persecute the prisoner—he came to prosecute.

The murderer’s victim was a near relative of a neighbor

and friend of his, and at his solicitation he came; but, with

the inward resolve that if the testimony adduced on the

occasion did not fully and clearly satisfy him of the guilt

of the prisoner, he would withdraw from the case. He had

listened attentively; and there was not now a lingering

doubt in his mind of the guilt of the accused. If he thought

otherwise, he would not ask—he would not accept—a ver¬

dict of “guilty” at the hands of the jury,” &c.

Mr. Tebbs spoke about four hours, and was followed by

Mr. Scott, of Fauquier, the leading counsel of the prisoner.

His argument was an able and ingenious one, filled with

legal lore, wit and sarcasm. In him the prisoner had re¬

posed his main chance of acquittal—Mr, S. occupying at

the bar of Rappahannock, somewhat the position of the

late S. S. Prentiss, of Mississippi, on his circuit, to wit:—

“If a fellow committed murder and Prentiss couldn’t clear

him, he ought to be hanged, and be d—d to him.” Mr,

Scott evidently found he had a Sysphean stone to roll; but

he did all that power, genius and eloquence could do, to

avert the doom of his client.

Mr. Scott was followed by Mr. Jones, in a few brief re?

marks pertinent to the case, and who was followed by J.

Y. Menifee, Esq., the Commonwealth’s Attorney, who

closed the argument on behalf of the State.

After a short summing up by the Judge, the case was

.given to the Jury at about half-past three o’clock in the

•evening of the 11th of March, it having occupied the entire

time of the Court since its sitting. The Jury retired to

their room, and were absent about ten minutes, when they

returned into Court prepared to .announce their verdict

through their foreman., John G. Parks, Esq., which was,

•^Guilty ge Murder in the First Degree.” They were

then discharged, and the prisoner remanded to the .custody

of the Sheriff, and by him rc-cond acted to prison. On this

occasion there was little attention paid to his exit. We

closely watched his countenance on the rendition of the

verdict. JSTot a muscle moved, nor could the slightest

change be detected in his countenance. lie appeared a#

stoical and indifferent to his fate as one can well imagine.

His cheek neither blanched nor paled, or his lip quivered,

and the only sign of emotion to he detected in him was a

nervous twitching of his fingers, accompanied by a scowf-

jng glance which he cast upon the large crowd of anxious

spectators by whom he was surrounded.

Indeed, on this day—the day which consigned him to .a

disgraceful death by hanging on the gallows, his demeanor

and general hearing appeared to have undergone a complete

metamorphosis. His general bearing during the entire trial

had been one of an humble and resigned nature, seldom

enlivened by a smile on his part; on the contrary, rather

bearing the appearance of a man conscious .of his innocence,

but the victim of circumstances beyond his control, and

which he was unable to explain.

On the following morning lie was again brought into

Court, and the dread sentence of the law pronounced upon

him in due form. He still maintained his stoicism and

indifference to the dreadful fate which awaited him, and it

was not until Judge Tyler alluded to his wife, and once

Imppy fireside, that the least sign of emotion could be'traceh.

in the prisoner’s eoante-nance. Here his feelings sought

vent in a flood of tears. Doubtless the shades of his mur-

‘d-ered wife—his murdered babe, accompanied, by the vision

«©f one whom he had ruined—whom he bad morally murdered

umd cast upon the cold world, a poor, blighted thing of

teftrth, flitted before his vision for the moment. Whatever

may have been the cause, it was the first symptom of sorrow

and penitence he had manifested since his-arrest. But even

this soon wore away, to give place to the stolid appearance

-of a hardened, fmplueabie wiliain.

Being ordered to arise, Judge Tyler, before pronouncing

the final sentence of the law, addressed to him the follow-

ling chaste and eloquent remarks, which, despite the genera1!

fiiejudice against the prisoner, drew tears from the eyes of

nearly every one present. Tt was as follows-:

•James IT. JeirasoN—You have been indicted in this Court

ffor the murder of your wife by the administration of poison.

You have had a fair and impartial trial by an intelligent

Jury of this *ceimty. Yon have had able and experienced

-counsel, whose best efforts have been exerted in your de-

ifence—but these efforts have proved hie flee trial when op¬

posed to the irresistible power and force of truth—and the

■Jury have returned against yon a verdict of ^guilty of

murder in the first degree.” As conscientious Jurors llicy

•could have returned no other verdict; for never in my

-experience have I seen a chain of ciremiistaiitisd. evidence

more complete, more cemsistent, or more xscrawdusive of

guilt. Under these ei ream stances the law demands the

.solemn judgment of the Court on this verdict of the Jurv,

That judgment is thcforfeitu.ro of life. Death is the penalty

denounced against the crime you have perpetrated. It is

right and just that it should be so; were it otherwise, the

"whole frame-work of society would tumble to pieces. No

one could lie down in peace, or rise up in security; no one

•could cat, no one could drink without fear of a sudden and.

vielent death. I do not desire bv any remarks I shall sub-

jwii fo Leighton the anguish of your feelings, or deepen the

gloom and horror of your fate; hut I deem it proper to

endeavor to awoken you to a sense of- your condition, and

to say to you that whatever peculations yos wwsy bare in¬

dulged in ns- toyonr elwttuces to escape punrsiinsent, that the verdict of the Jury has closed the- door to the last ray of

the light of hope There is no hope &r on this side of

the grave. You re is got a ease to excite the merry or sym¬

pathy of earthly tribunals; for in the longblack catalogue

of guilt ami woe ilj«t make- up the criminal record! which

has come down to nsT there is no deed that stands oat in

colors of deeper, darker malignity, than Yon have

murdered l.y the- administratio& of poison ai& iinrooee-Dt and

unoffending woman. Youl«vr&murdleved ths- wife- of your

own bosom- She who sever showedyouaught bst aflection

—-sho who her®- ^nm/erru uffing and ia. silence the keenest

and sorest wouyds- that could be infiictetl on her marital

rights—the slave of your will—the handmaid of your house.

You have murtk-red th,?> motifs of your own children—

who loved them as a mother always loves—as a mother only

loves. Yon hnv* revered with ruthless hand the dearest

and tendered. ties that can link human beings together ois

this earth; and hr so doing, you have harried your confid¬

ing victim hdo the presence-of her Maker, with scarce time

la repeal the prayer of the jx>or publicany “■God be merciful

to me a owner.” Your home is abandoned—your hearth

is desolate—yoatr children outcasts on the cold charity of

>bo world —your wife burned to an untimely tomb; and

you, the guilty author of all this crime and wretchedness,

kdanel to-day before sue, a convicted fe'ou, awaiting the

sentence that is to consign yo*r try the gallows. Wherefore

i* all tills ? Its source and eons»ru?mat5on is to he traced to

?u adulterous and guilty passion which, like a tornado, has

blasted in it.- course the reputation of a deluded female,

wrecked her pence and happiness forever, and has spread

death, desolation and destruction over you and yours, I

b>rbe;v. however, to dwell longer on this tragic-tale. He-

33

inanity shudders at its contemplation, and shrinks back ui

horror and humiliation at its recital. Let me, however,

exhort you to direct your appeal to the Throne of Mercy—

to the Author of your being—whose law you have violated

and whose mandates you have contemned. You will not

—3’ou cannot dissemble before him. His all-seeing eye

was upon you when, under the guise of ministering to your

wife a health-giving draught, you presented to her the cup

of death, and caused her to drain it of its last drop. Of

that cup you must shortly drink. In the mysterious ordi¬

nations of an over-ruling Providence, the “poisoned chal¬

ice” is returned to your own lips—and you will have to

drain it of its last drop. Prepare, then, for that awful

event. Think no more of the things of time. Why would

you live !—to have the slow, unerring finger of scorn pointed

at you to the latest hour of your existence—to be hissed

and hooted at—shunned and 'avoided, by your fellow crea¬

tures as a walking pestilence-—a moral leper whose touch

would be contamination, and whose association would bo

moral death. Ho ! think no more of time, and prepare for

eternity,' 'remembering that “it is not all of life to live, nor

all of death to die beyond the confines of this mortal

sphere there comes a second death, from the untold horrors

of which seek to be saved while yet you may.”

The sentence of death b}7 hanging was then pronounced?

and Friday, the 13th of May, fixed as the time of execution*

Thus ended the trial of James IT. Johnson. For cool,

calculating villainy—the means used to attain his end and

put his victim out of the way, lias, perhaps, no parallel in

the criminal calender, if we except the celebrated Palmer

case in England, and a more recent one in Hew York,

occurring almost simultaneously with Johnson’s ; though,

in the latter, arsenic was substituted as the agent of death,

in lieu of strychnia.

We visited the deceased in prison a few days after his

conviction, and found him heavily ironed, and a guard

placed-at the door of his cell. After some casual remarks,

34

the subject of his recent trial ami conviction was alluded

to. lie declared his utter innocence of the crime alleged

against him. lie said he had no right to complain of the

Court and Jury, in view of the evidence as developed at

the trial. He believed the Jurors acted conscientiously,

and thought they would have acted contrary to their oaths

had they brought in any other verdict than the one they

did. He was an innocent man—the “victim of a long train

of unforeseen circumstances, which he was unable to do

away with or explain.

It is surmised by many that he will make an ultimate

confession of his guilt, but we doubt it.

.11)6 £effeivs of ^jjHj £. Sftfefre.

The following letters of Mary E. Shrove, addressed to

James H. Johnson, were offered in evidence by the prose¬

cuting attorney, but ruled out by Judge Tyler, in the ab¬

sence of any proof of their authenticity. That they, are

genuine there cannot exist a doubt; more especially when

taken in connection with the evidence adduced at his trial.

They -were read in Court on the examining trial, and went

far to establish in the mind of the public the guilt of the

prisoner. Upon their introduction at his final trial, Scott,

one of the prisoner’s counsel, declared his intention to file

exceptions to the Judge’s ruling, in case they were admitted

as evidence. The Commonwealth’s Attorney, J. Y. Men¬

ifee, Esq., declined pressing their introduction, and with¬

drew them ; but, at the same time, refused to deliver them

to prisoner’s counsel, unless he claimed them as the prop¬

erty of his client, &c.

The Prosecuting Attorney was prepared to prove the fact

of correspondence between the parties—identity of hand¬

writing and possession on the part of the prisoner; but

knowing that his case was already made out, and that his

principal witness was a sorrow-stricken female, a near re)-

35

ative of the writerj-he, with tlmt humane ancl ehivalric

spirit which distinguished his course throughout the entir©

trial, forbore to press the matter. That their authenticity

coul'dliavc been easily established, there is not a doubt. The unfortunate Mary E. Shreve could have been produced

in Court, if necessary ; but this extreme measure was not

resorted to.

Names have been erased as far as possible, and sentences

dropped, to avoid giving pain to any one whose name ap¬

pears amongst the list of Miss S——’s acquaintances, and

which is familiarly used in her letters.

Monoay, February 8, 1858.

Dearest:—You no doubt know 1 have by this time re¬

ceived your very interesting letter, which, believe me, was

very unexpected; for so tar did doubt possess my mind, I

feared never to see or hear from vou again. But I must

stop this, for it is cruel of me to torture you thus, after

receiving so kind a letter from you. You requested me to

write to you immediately. I received your letter Saturday,

and this is only Monday. I thought I would wait until

to-day, as I expected to go down to cousin Henry’s, Sun¬

day. Then perhaps I could tell you all—all, at least, that

I dreaded. It was the second time I had seen W-since

I came home. He talked some about old tim.es, but noth¬

ing serious. When I was going to get ready to come home,

S-and I left the parlor together. W-overtook us

in the passage—put his arms around me and kissed me.

Now I have told you all, I wonder if you believe me. I

don’t think he loves me as he used to, and I am glad of it.

By this time you are overlooking for something more, but

I have not much to tell. I wrote a long letter to M-

Saturday night, and directed it to Bentonville. I did not

know whether that was her post-office or not. 1 still think

of taking the Bed Hill School in the summer. I have

been down to Uncle Bill v’s. B-and I talked a good

deal about you. You must know, darling, you paid noth¬

ing for that bed, as the note was only given to those you

3G

received that much in value or more than the rest. Y($}

must also know Unele Billy paid Mathews sixteen dollars

for you. You know it all, and ought to tell Aunt Alice

all. She can only dislike you the more when she finds it

out, for trying to deceive her. You never told me what

you went to "Warreoton for, or your business in Warrcnton.

But you had to tell a story, perhaps, and preferred or thought

it would behest to say as little about your visits as possible.

My health is improving, as is natural. You know how you

left me, and promised to see the doctor, but you must not

now ask, as it will be useless. How come you to tell-

-you “wanted to see the children so badly, and they

were all you did care to see ?” Let me tell you I don’t

know what your privileges arc, but she makes out she

thinks very little of you for it.

-is going to get married between now and May.

Mr.-is going to ask-for her whenever he comes

down. She is expecting him every day.-is here

—she came before I got up. You must not laugh at this

badly written letter, dearest; for, some how or other, I

cannot write at all when I am writing to you, or as well as

I would like to. Shall I ask, darling, if ‘•'■you ever go to our

baby's grave ?” and do you think of me there ? Oh ! I am

with you—in spirit, in feeliug, if not personally. Every

morning, when I lay awake in bed, how I wish you were

with me, for there is none other I talk to or love like you.

Oh! how miserable I am sometimes, when the thought

distracts me that I might marry another, and if I was to,

I never should want to sec you. Then I will be willing to

give you up to some other girl that you have treated like

me. Low, darling, it does seem to me the mail is very

long going and coming this short distance. I shall wait

with so much anxiety. Now, pray, darling, don’t delay

writing after receiving this. Uncle James Moore was

down soon after you went home, and I was very sorry your

colt was so lame. Frank is well and satisfied, and doing

tolerably well at school, but I am afraid not so well as lie

61

%oialci. Frank Went down to Uncle Billy’s with me. I believe

I have done all you asked of me. Give my respects to the

doctor, and all the love I have to yourself, and believe, as yet,'

(you are the dearest.

(Signed!) MOLLIE.

Mountain View, March 1st, 1858.

Dearest :—l received your very kind and consoling letter, but did

not get it on Saturday, as you expected. I was from home when I

got it, and consequently was prevented answering you until now

t was going to write yesterday, which was Sunday, but after Dick

left (he came home with me) IV—— came and staid until bed lime,

and I was still prevented from doing that which l wished to do.

You must excise nte, for the will Was good to do that which l con¬

sider my ditty, though I ce late performing; You might wonder

what f was doing from home a whole week and better. I shall tell

you, to relieve whatever anxiety might he occasioned. I had been

iquite unwell, and little or nothing to do for some time, when D--

tame over for me; to spend a few days With his Jlla. I went home

with him on Thursday; Sunday, I started home in the sleigh with

D-He has an elegant sleigh—a pair of mules, and between

kixty and eighty bells. We were going by Cousin Daniel’s for

A-, and met her on his sleigh; above the house, going to the

Valley. So we turned to gc back with them, and intended to go to

Cousin Henry’s to dinner, but we were rather early, and went by

the Store. We met C——“there; with J--S- and S-

fcl-, going home with him; so we went on down with them.

There was hetwieeh twenty and thirty young people to dinner, sup¬

per, and breakfast next morning. Ail the young ladies and gentle¬

men went to Leesburg to preaching, at night, but myself. [ gave up

friy seat on D—’s sleigh to S— B—. I believe she loves him ; so

do all the girls. I feel very proud indeed to know one I once loved

is such a general favorite; it makes me satisfied in a measure of my

capacity for making a choice. I fear, darling, I shall wrong yon

with this long story, though it is but half told. Be. it said, I often

thought of you, and longed to be with you, dearest. Dick got your

last letter from the office, as we were coming from cousin Henry’s.

I was surprised somewhat at the post-mark, and broke t open im-

Mediately. I could not begin and read it through, but seemed if f

o 8

must read it all at once. Need 1 tell you my emotion as my eyes

rushed on some parts of it. Well, I ciied there on the sloigh with

D-. O ! little did he know as he teased and harassed me ffjf

turns, what satisfaction, what relief those tears brought. Oh! in¬

deed, my dearest, it was bliss to fe#l, to know, as I did at that mo¬

ment, you must love me for the sake of mine, even as I do love

you ; foi, separated as we are, aud under some circumstances, I am

forced to listen to the words of the flatterers. But, do not (ear for

me set—and, don’t I trust the time never may come that I shall

have aught to regret. You can save, and must save, ere my soul be

marked with further guilt. I may have given you some uneasiness

by not saying anything about my health ; but, that I can remove, as

1 wish you perfectly free and happy. D— went with me up to Mr.

Sinclair's, to see Dr. Fliun, w ho is tending him. We had our lungs

examined. Both of our left lungs are affected—mine, more than

his. He leaves to day, and his son is coming over in his stead. I

am going to be operated on until they are sound again. Ask Dr.

Kinsey how he likes the practice of galvanism. If I ever have the

rheumatism, I intend to try him for that, also. I have great faith in

him, and am very anxious for you to try him. If you can come

over whilst he is in attendance on Mr. Sinclair, you can be operated

on for little expense. If not, you must go to Frederick to see him.

1 don’t expect you ever wear that truss, as you promised. You

spoke of keeping one promise you made me, and, as if that was all ?

Oh God ! break that one. As proud as I would be to w ear the ring,

or conceal in this bosom the image of him I adore ; rather this be

lost—eternally lost, for it only affords sensual pleasures. Let all be

lost, but do not cause me to doubt your nobleness of soul. Again :

Do not stoop to anythin" that is mean and low, for which you would

have to lie to conceal. Throw off that way of concealmentBe

open, be firm, and above all, be true. Oh, bow truly gratified,

dearest, am I, for the confidence of those I love. There is nothing

on earth, my darling, I think, let alone know, but I would tell you

without hesitation. I am going to tell you a thought—and it is only

a thought—and shall be, until lie tells me positively he really does

love me. But I really am afraid I am a favo ite of D-'s. I do

not want to be, nor do I take any pains to he.

You ought to scold me fur writing on such a sheet of paper. I

asked Pap for if, and he gave me one ; but after he saw the purpose

f was going to put it lo, he told me there was belter in the desk, i

wonder if he would have thought it good enough, if he had known

who I was writing to. I hope so, darling. You should not hesitate

one moment if you could come, for I never hear the family say

anything bad about you. Come, for I will be delighted to see you

whenevervou think it worth your-— to come and see me, I would

like for you to send my store account down, or bring it when you

come. I don’t know when Pap will have the money, but if he had

the ball, he could send it when he got the money. And my doctor’s

bill, dear; I would like for that to be paid. Do you ever talk to

■ Dr. Kinsey about me ? Ah ! perhaps, Like me, you have no one lo

Salk to about that which you think most about. I go on a heap of

nonsense with D-. Let me tell you :—He asked --- for

some of my hair to make a ling. I whispered to her to get some of

the horse’s tail, and she got some of mine sure enough, and he would

hardly believe it was mine. lie is going to have a ring made for it

the first time he goes to Frederick. Frank is well and hearty. He

was the first one that carne to meet me when I came home. I wisli

I could take more pains with writing. I expect you think 1 take no

pains because L am writing to you ; but it is not so, for you are my

only confidant and correspondent. Mr. R-has not been down

yet. -- -- wrote for him to come down the first week in

March, or never. You wished to know “ what I did with our let¬

ters ?” I .always carry them about my person. I will be so glad

when I get my portfolio, as I can lock them up, for, I cannot de¬

stroy them. Whenever I get lonely I read them. Oh ! they are

so much company for me. I shall not send my love to anyone as

f have none for any but you. Receive all then dearest, though

poor the offering may be. As yet my darling you are the dearest.

" (Signed) ’ MOLLIE E. SHREVE.

Write soon—very soon and tell me when you’re coming down.

Mountain View, March 30, 1858.

Dear, Dear Uncle :—I commence this letter now, so that it

may reach you by the time expected and promised. I would

not for worlds keep you in suspense, when it is in my power to

do otherwise ; for, oh ! darling, if like me, disappointment must

kill. And why should I feel so? Does it not seem that life

4o

was made with bucIi trials for me ? I ought not to complain L;

But, oh, clearest, mj mind at times is possessed of such evili

forebodings that I cannot refrain from writing them ; and oh !'_

the future 1 the dark, unfathomable future which my soul dam

not point as bright :—and should it he bright, the cloud of my

past life will ever linger over me. And you—my uncle, my

lover—the man that I adored, never so loved with a wicked,,

idolatrous love. Yes, I feel it now. But I am writing too,-

much, more than you can read, and think, and feel. As I now

feel, I sometimes wish I was lingering away with consumption,,

or some other sure and fatal disease, and that my loyr my bahy%

were living, that I might leave as a legacy my sorrows, written

for him v#ho never would cause such.. You did not love me,,

you do not love me. Now, oh, God ! did not your tongue say

the same—did not your actions prove the same l Yes, you

said to prove your love, you never would have recourse to the-

meanness you had hitherto practiced. Was not that promise-

broken ? So were many ethers. If it were not wrong to go

back so far—-to divo so deep into the past, then could I tell you

of the many guilty, guilty things—oh !; it makes me shudder

to think. The heart of woman, wooed, won, aye, yes, by hyp¬

ocritical means, then broken, then left a barren —Yes,

if you bad left and given mo my baby, then indeed would the

place in my heart, now void, been occupied. Oh, indeed it^

would be a vain wish, and yet to ms i$ is a heavenly thought.

I would, yet I cannot write otherwise, for my mind;is fully fillet^

with this one subject. My wish for you is this—stay with^

love and cherish as much as possible the being yon once did,

and now pretend, to love.

Do not, in answer to this, say anything of yourself, for need*

I say you have ruined aud contaminated two hearts—bodies*

and souls:—either far tpo yoblp to have come in the way of one- so worthless and wicked as yours. Don’t you accuse me o^

writing falsely, for so detestable is your character, I dread you..

Tho very words of affection once pronounced by you, not to i»*,

only, but your wirc, fdl ine with dread and terror ; for so hyp-

41

*

ocritieal and base they now appear, I have sounded. But,

thoughtless as I then.was, they might have pleased. Ah, yes !

I loved to hear them, and never doubted their sincerity; but

one moment’s reflection would have told me what no one could

doubt. A man with a wife must certainly have made the same

professions before—-yes, and with your children to prove their

connubial love and wedded happiness. Of all this }Tou have

robbed me. I may marry, but if I do, my bridal days will not

be those of truthfulness, sincerity, and the modesty of a girl,

as I always wished them to be. I think you asked when last

I saw you, “what }Tou should do to prove your love.” Never

speak of the past—never hint it to me. I will write to you

sometimes, perhaps often, but not as I have written heretofore.

I will impose the same silence on myself as I have already

asked of you. Frank is well. Please burn this, with the rest

of the letters I have written you. From your niece

(Signed) MOLLIE.

P. S.—I have not spoken of the remark you made, “of

revenging your enemies”—but beware. I suppose you remem¬

ber the time a tear may have shown itself in every eye, but oh,

man, stay your revenge upon the innocent. My tears are not

shed for your words of mocking power, for I fear them not.

Shame be upon the man that would disgrace an'cl then take re¬

venge upon a helpless woman ! In pity we are united.

Mountain View, March 31, 1858.

My darling, my all,—Forgive, oh, forgive and protect me,

for life is dark—oh ! so very dark; my darling, and hope is

nearly gone. I would not have written you that awful letter,

but oh ! my God ! are you capable of the meanness, the vile¬

ness—no—no human being can be. You, oh, God ! whom I

have loved so. Dearest, I am wretched, miserable. Could I

but conceal all, or tell you half I bear—no, you can never

know my misery, for tongue cannot tell it. Ob, the miserable

wretch who calls himself my father, is not satisfied with scan¬

dalizing—lowering you in every respect to hurt and mortify

me as much as he can : and because I said you were as white

42

more feeling, and more of a gentleman than he; and I cried

too, before him, -which must have confessed all; for when I

looked at him he looked pale, and oh, so angry ! He said ho

would lock me up, and I should have nothing to eat hut bread

and water; and oh ! Heaven ! would I not be willing to eat

anything, or nothing almost, from him, than to be with him.

Yes, if with those I love—oh, my God, who knows it—who

knows all things, knows I had rather live in poverty with you,

if you loved me and was happy. You say you cannot live

thus, and I must die. If he is not kinder to me, I will run

away, if I starve or die on the big road. This will be my last

chance and opportunity of writing to you. God wills it so,

and it must be so, but it is hard, very hard. You must write

once again. I must hear from you. It seems to me I cannot

live, but sorrow does not kill the body, though it may burden the

heart until it breaks. My fate is hard, but I made it myself.

Farewell, dearest, and forgive for all your unkindness. I have

tried to drive you from me, but oh ! how near you are to me in

sorrow’s dark hour. IIow your wo-begone face haunts me. I

never told you how wretched I thought you looked. And were

you indeed sad, my darling ? I thought it might be my pale

and wretched-looking self made you so sad, and I tried to be

cheerful, but was far from feeling so. But oh! the thought

would come, for they say you arc a hypocrite and a villain ;

and if I had never loved so unconsciously, I never could have

felt so miserable, yours miserably. If Pap treats me as he

has, and I have courage, I’ll leave him. I’ll, go, I’ll bog, I’ll

die. He said he would be satisfied if I was where he could

never hear from me. If I had fifty dollars I would go—I

would spend the last cent going from him. Yes, I would go

as far as it would take me. Yours—after reading you know

how to write.

(Signed) MOLLIE.

Mountain View, April 17, 1858.

Dear as ever,—And as ever kind. Thoughtful, most con¬

siderate. Why should I have ever have thought otherwiso ?

/

Surely I must have been possessed of a demon—a fiend of all

the evil. I have thought of and against you. Imaginary

surely it cannot be, and yet it were doing you great injustice

if you are innocent. Ob, darling, I would freely give worlds,

were they in my possession, to know that you were truly inno¬

cent of the many charges in circulation against you. I think

you can assist me in clearing my mind of some of these con¬

jectures supposed to be true. And if you would do so, please

send me the gentleman’s address you consigned Tap’s apples

to. With what information I could get from him and two or

three others, would do me a sight of good. My dearest, had

you only placed in me that perfect confidence so requisite to

connubial love and happiness, there never could have been this

estrangement between us. In speaking of your past life, I do

not mean you ought to have told me all that was bad, but the

had as well as the good. Had you told me everything, and

just as it was, all would have been then just as it should be ;

but instead, there seems to be a great barrier between us almost

insurmountable, liut I tell you now, if the fault be mine, my

happiness or misery shall make the atonement. I will spare

no pains to find out all, which I can do without any suspicion.

I have been miserable for some time before the birth of my

boy, for reasons known to you. Oh! misery, misery, eternal

misery for me ! I was always taught to look upon novels as

fictitious—thoughts as imaginary. My life has been real and

experienced, yet it partakes of both and tragical beyond com¬

prehension. You for some time have been a dark enigma which

I cannot solve. All the world seems strange to me, my own

family more so than others. I once thought of you as my beau

ideal of perfection. I would to God it were so notv. Spring

has come, my darling, and the changes that have been wrought

since the spring a year ago, arc almost inconceivable. I hope

by summer, followed by winter, the change will be much greater.

Tell me, candidly, how would you like to have B. C. M. for a

nephew ? You had better take me away—report says a good

deal, I got the portfolio and its contents, you were so kind to

44

send. I see you are bound to Lave me near you by the depth

of gratitude, if not by love. Perhaps you will think gratitude

but a poor offering. I wont be a coquette any longer, but as

I am always plain and confiding to 3*011, I will trust you with

both my love and m3' gratitude until 1 call for them. I am

expecting a letter from you this evening with m3r ke3r. You

scamp, did you not know what a curiosit3' I have. I have seen

all without the key! I expect Aunt A. has got that letter by

this time. I wrote it all, but did not sign my name alone; for

I was ashamed to. S-A-is nos home vet, but we will

expect her soon. I hope 3'ou got home safe, and for goodness’

sake, take off that long face—you’ll have so many wrinkles I

can’t love you. I seem as if*! have been craz3r, or not living,

but I begin to feel like I used to. Tell M-I don’t intend

to write to her any more. "Write to me often, my darling, for

I get the blues and am so disagreeable if I want to hear from

you and can’t. The3* are calling me to dinner, and I must be

in a hurry, for I am blotting nicely, you "see, cn this side. I

have told you no news in this long letter, but all you want to

know, I reckon. Spring is so happy and joyous in itself that

I cannot keep being so too—but, jo3’ousncss for 3'our presence

is alwa3's wanting when 3'ou are absent. With a hast3' smack

of a kiss, I am 3’our affectionate little love.

(Signed) MOLLIE.

Mountain View, May 13, 185S.

Dear Uncle:—I scarcely know how to begin writing to

you, so disappointed and grieved as I am. You must have

got the last letter I wrote, before I received your last. I

have been waiting ever since to hear from you, but as yet

in vain. Yow I would like to hear from vou, and know

what arrangements 3-ou have made for the summer. I ex¬

pect to leave here soon—this month, in all probabilitjq and

3'ou must come down or send for Frank, before I leave ;

for I don’t intend going until 3’ou do so. For then 3-011 will

have no business here, and no need for coming afterwards,

whero your feelings, if you have any, must bo wounded

and mortified, When yon were here last,-said you

would not give her a pleasant answer. I have only to ask,

“what has she done to you ?” Nothing, you must of course

answer. You treated-very kindly—even as kind as

you did me; and what has she done or said to you, may I

ask? You may answer, for I cannot. If she had aught

to do and say * * * *

You have right tc resent it. I remember you telling me

once you were afraid I would be jealous of of S— A—.

Why did you fear ? I heard you say you never kissed any

one you did not want to. Why did you refuse to kiss her

when you first came ? It was only to deceive me, which,

thank God, you cannot do, for you did kiss her before you

left, I did not see you, but another did, and only from a

desire to do so, you kissed her, I suppose. You were

alone, and from that fact I am inolined to belie^p it. What

do you think I would have felt like, letting a gentleman

kiss rue in private ! I would have felt like a guilty, wicked

wretch. Hereafter I shall feel at liberty to do just as I

please. If she knew how often you have kissed Charlotte,

and old Miller’s negroes, she would never have allowod it,

either, I saw you as delightfully standing before Mary,

at the stack-yard, as if you were in the presence of a queen.

It is an old adage—“Judge a person by the company he

keeps.” I have only to say, you aro the fondest person of

negroes’ company I ever saw. Oh, man ! if you only knew

how little I think of you, and how mean I think you are,

you would never look at me, come near me, hear me, or

***** me< You need never write as you have written to

me. I will be ashamed of the letters, as I am already.

Oh ! I’m so sorry you sent mo that ring and portfolio.

When Aunt A. comes down I will send them to. you, or

give them to any one you will name. I have found out a

good deal, and would like for you to know how I did so ;

but it will take too much time and paper to write. And I

never want to look at you, if I should have an opportunity.

1 hear a great many things I thought you had nover anid

to any one but me. You can 'come for Frank as soon

you please, for all here dislike him. He is such a nasty

little liar that no one ever can like him. Perhaps it is a

good thing. You know what I would sa}’ for anything that

takes after you—had better be dead than alive. You can

tell his mama all her meanness has come home—a negro

has been too good to whip her child. I have got revenge

without seeking it. Aunt Becky desired me to ’say, that

if you were only going to stay a week or two, you had

better come the last of the month, as uncle Gussy is ex¬

pected on or about that time. B-J-went for him.

lie wrote he was very sick, and wanted some one to come for him. He will be on as soon as he is able.

(Signed) MARY E. SHREVE.

P. S.—I want you to send me mv letters. If you are in

any respect a gentleman, you will do it, and I shall do the

same. Y'ou need not pretend you never received this. I

expect to hear you didn’t get the one I wrote before this,

but it’s no use. I shall expect the contents of this letter

complied with immediately. You promised me once to

always let me know when you were coming to Loudoun,

but it wasn't so.

Mountain View, Jan. 11, 1858.

Dearest Uncle:-—You no doubt remember the request

you made of me to let you know the opinions of the people

about you, uninterestedly «nd in full :—so you shall have

it. AYords can hardly express the meanness the)- suppose

you to possess. For instance, a gentleman says, “he never

would have let a daughter of his visited your house.”

Another told Pap he would have to drive you from his

house. Pap was told I.was in a family way. He made a

will—cut me oft-—said I should not come home to live.

Had I have known this, and that you were what you pro-

tended to be, a friend, I never would have come. Pap has

gince used your name, speaking to and concerning me, very

47

handily. None of this, or other things I hear, would have

any weight, but you know how harshly I have judged you

myself. Now, uncle James, if I was the mean, low, dirty

vagabond and outcast that people speak of, curse and detest

*—whose very name the dregs of creation think a disgrace

to handle, I would reform. I would try and gain that space

in society which is void without you. I would like to be¬

friend you—aye, I should like to speak well of you, but can

I, when the public are down on you. Appearances cer¬

tainly are against you. What I hear almost maddens me,

so much—so much, I know nothing of-so incompre¬

hensible, and yet apparently so full of meaning. Oh ! if

some reports were circulated about me, I never would go

into company. I don’t think .1 will while appearances are

as they are. I would come amongst them—I would estab¬

lish my character, cost what it might. The very men I’ve

heard you speak of going to bad houses and dirty places,

rail out against you, and you against them ! Oh, what can

it mean ? Oh, Virtue ! thou hast so many charms, and

without thee how loathsome must be life—how very despi¬

cable must he existence !

Don’t be angry, darling ; for how can I write differently

without deceiving you ; and to do that, is what I have nev¬

er done. If I could but think different, you surely must

know my feelings. Oh, the change would be bliss. S—•

and C-- came up three or four .days. We all went over

to Cousin D-'s. We danced and had some fun, hut I

was angry with myself for the enjoyment I never expected

to have with those I once so much desired to be with.—

Frank is well, and doing well. The little fellow, I believe,

would like to go about; and I would like to take him, hut

I cannot. I-II-told uncle G-the circumstances

that happened up there. I have never told my suspicions

concerning you to any one hut-, and she is all I am

likely to tell them to. Write soon, and tell me all, without

reserve, as I have done by you. No one shall see your let-

48

tors. I love you yet, but that love ia a burden and a misery

to me ; for I never can enjoy you more. I have only to

forget and think of you as the husband of another. It is

hard, but I have already borne as much. I would like to see you sometimes, but only for a short time, and when you

write, tell me when you are coming. Bring Milt with you,

or whoever you choose. I will do everything I can to make

their visit agreeable. Cousin G- is dead, and buried.

D-stopped the evening he came by. He is as pleasant

as ever. Give my love to all enquiring friends, which wont

be many—you alone preserve my love—and my very best

respects to Dr. Kinsey. I would hate for this to reach

Washington while you are in Fredericksburg. From one

who cannot, but would like to claim the place of. wife only.

W rite soon, and a long letter. Yours,

(Signed) MOLLIE.

Mountain View, March, 1858.

Dearest:—I shall leave home to-morrow, in all probabil¬

ity, to visit Aunt Mary and Uncle Frank, and not knowing

when I shall return, I thought it would be prudent for me

to write to you before going. All is right, and thank God

for it. Oh, how great my trials are, and always will be !

Dr. F ■'■ will attend me no longer, for ho or no one else

can do me any good whilst 1 labor under the present ex¬

citement of circumstances. I have made up my mind,

darling, never to sec you again, until I can claim a rightto

treat you in some respect as I would wish to treat you, and

none other. If the tie by law was broken which binds you

to another, I would brave the anger of friends—all, every

one ; but to that add disgrace—it is hard, too hard. I be¬

lieve, dearest, the law is all that separates us ; in every other

respect you are mine; but enough of this. I would have

had plenty of time to have said this, and perhaps never

have came to have said it at all. Let despair be ever so

dark, there i? hope beyond, though I sometimes think dif-

fereutly. Pap went to Frederick^ to get Lis eloverseed, on

Tuesday, and wc Had a Houseful of company. * * come

home. * * * * were the ladies who came witli Her. C. T.

E. and Billy T. were the gentlemen.

If J. E. sees this letter, lie wont think it looks suspicious

or not, because the paper is so fine. I never intend to write

to you so carelessly again. Wc ought to keep one anoth¬

er’s letters to look at in after years ; but Have I not scen’as

affectionate writing to another as you ever can write to me ?

OH, How much I wish I could forget what I already know,

and commence a life of reality and profit. I never intend

to go with you until after the death of,Aunt, unless yon

get a divorce. You would go to Kentucky”, and stayr twelve

months and a day. The law would then grant you the

privilege of choosing another bride. The very idea of

such a thing appears wicked. I wonder, poor woman, if

she suspects 'the sorrows in store for her. And for me,

sometimes when I think of our plans, how wicked and sin¬

ful they are. I almost say, I’ll do no such thing; hut,

then, if 1 were to many another, 1 never could love him like

S love you. Do you think 1 could ? If 1 can teach school

this summer, 1 will have something to employ’ myself with

besides nonsense, (now wont 1?) besides the profit in the

end. You will not write to me, of course, until 1 write to

you again. From your loving

(Signed) LITTLE MOLLIE.

Think of me often, darling, as 1 shall of you. 1 have

your knife. Don’t, I pray, let it destroy the love that exists

between us. Perhaps it is not much, but it is very sweet

—it feels so to me. 1 remain as 1 always shall, your foolish

little girl.

Mountain View, May 28, 1857. Dearest Uncle;—You surely must know or have some

idea of my present trials. I was very sorry you trusted a

second letter to me, indeed. I do not know but what the

last was read before I got it, and the very day Pap brought

too

it from the office, for he attends regularly lately.; lie kept

my other fully a. week in his pocket, before I got. it. Well,

must I tell yon all ?—yes, unreservedly. I fear—I really

do—my letters have been taken from my portfolio, and' re¬

placed after being read ; but 1 have them safe now. ] have

made a little bag-put my letters in and sewed them up,

and with my key fastened them to your guard, and wear

them about my neck always. Miss- S-is my greatest

enemy, who at one time 1 thought would he a friend. She

provoked a quarrel with Pap, to effect her end, and he got

up from the table, saying “he had a very trifling set of

daughters/’ to which she replied b}- saying, “only one was

lower and more degrading than the rest, and if she had

done as that one had clone, slic’d go. hang herself/’ Pap

left the house, saying “he cosh? never see one moment’s

happiness again.” Oh ! the mean, hateful wretch kept her

seat, looking as proud and-as if she had been doing

ji Gpd-likc act; but she has not succeeded in accomplishing

her object, for Pap treats me as kind as ever—if anything,

more so. Poor man, he seems to suffer, so do not think

harshly of him. I told him not to listen, lie was one

could say if 1 had ever acted so badly; Miss-said one

could—meaning you. 1 said 1 would write to you to come

and say it, if you would, to which she replied, ‘•‘■yon should

not come in the house if she were here-, and Pap in the

same hr,path said, “if you come he would eat yonr d—d

throat from car to car.” It is very unrefined, and something

1 never said myself. She called me a -— -, said 1 was

more like aunt Mary's Maria than any one she knew. She

purely never meant what sire said, for 1 think 1 am unlike

her as she herself, as honorable as she pretends to be.—

Uncle, dear, 1 do not want you to think of what you pro¬

pose. 1 never can think of making Pap more miserable

and wretched than he is. Do not try to arouse me, for 1 am

at present more resigned than 1 ever thought 1 could be, *'< f •

51 «

We are both .young and can wait, but if your worldly mat¬

ters are sufficiently unembarrassed, 1 would like you to go

forth in the world on your first footing, and prepare ns a

borne—one to our taste, not one of luxury or of poverty,

but a neat, comfortable living. In utter poverty, with my

fiealth as it is 1 ikely to be for years—so long .as 1 remain

single, 1 would be a drudge and a burden on your hands,

though 1 dread not willing labor. Sometimes, 1 think, per¬

haps, you would lure me away to mistreat me for revenge

or for pique. Oh, man, take me not if you cannot give

your whole heart, your thoughts, your all ! Without these

1 would be equally miserable as from you. You must not

fear if you should go and was unsuccessful, which would

require a long time for success of my inconstancy, for, be¬

lieve me, I have suffered so much already for my sins to

keep others on my conscience by marrying while you live.

No, 1 never shall. Pap has returned with a squirrel, so 1

must stop. Ne gave me the squirrel to skin and clean. 1

did not know how to commence, but -* instructed me,

and 1 got through admirably. While 1 was washing it, 1

heard Miss-quarreling with Pap. She is not satisfied,

nor wont be until she gets him angry with me. I wrote on

this sheet of foolscap because 1 thought 1 had enough to

write to fill it, hut Pap interrupting me, and other things,

1 have almost forgotten what 1 intended to say. M. J. is

very mean. She has never written to me yet. 1 thought j.

would direct my letters 1 write hereafter to you, to M. J.,

if you approve, for 1 will be watched, and closely. 1 don’t

know what to do with this letter before 1 have an opportu¬

nity of mailing it. 1 would like to send it to Leesburg, or

the Point. 1 would send you an envelope in this, directed

$o myself, hut you can get Dr? Kinsey to direct just one for

you ; then you must always send one in your letters not

directed, hccauso they all know your writing. I wish yoq

would let me know if the people over there over say anything

about me. J. II. is a villain to tell such things as he to]4

*

52

Uncle G-. Uncle G-is not expected for two months.

He is better. Aunt A. had better wait until she comes—

then she will be sure of sceingjbim, for there is no certainty

when he will come. Write me also what Aunt A. thinks

of me now. If bad as ever, 1 would rather her not come

to Loudoun, as long as can be prevented. That was a grand

scrawl you sent me. 1 will actually be jealous if you can

spare so few moments to think of me, for 1 believe you al¬

ways write in a hurry, or leave out something. If it takes

four sheets to contain all you would tell me, don’t send the

letter until you have said all. Write me if you put a seal

on your last letter. It had one on it, and 1 thought it looked

like it had been opened. 1 wish, uncle, you would get me

tlirfee boxes of Holloway’s pills. It seems as if they used

to do me good. Perhaps it was only imaginary ; if you

think so, don’t get them ; but 1 am so pale, 1 would like to

bave somethino; to make me have some color. 1 think some

strong bitters would be best for me—my bowels are never

regular. Pap lias propiised to get me some vegetable pills,

but be frequently neglects it. 1 believe it is wbat makes

me have the head-ache so much, and feel so dull. I have

three dollars and a half, with Frank’s money, keeping for a

rainy day. Uncle F-- and Aunt M-gave it to me.

1 was very provoked when 1 was so out-done about teaching

school. 1 am so sorry Frank is not an interesting child.

Ho one seems to notice him. All bore despise him. Then

be is so dirty, lie always trys to slip off to bed without

washing his feet. 1 have made him a pair of pants and

jacket, aud intend getting him a straw bat as soon as 1 get

to the store. If be was only refined and modest—but you

bave no idea of the vulgarity be knows. You will not thank

me for this—nor bis mother, wlio thinks be has looks and

sense enough to carry him along ; but 1 would advise you to

be more particular in raising your children. They all know

too much of wbat they ought not to know.

I must stop and finish another time. I have not got my summe

dresses yet—or have I needed them, for it has been too cold. 1 hare got a tolerable supply of under-clothes. 7 wish you’d writp

to Pap, not urgently either way—give him the news, besides enquire

as usual after the health of the family. He is always asking me if

you wrote to me, what you had to write about, and many other ques¬

tions that 7 am not able to answer satisfactorily. He said the other

day, whoever liked you liked the Devil, for he knew you to be a

d—nd liar himself. The latter you cannot contradict, for 7 have of¬

ten caught you in many—a heap 7 nevor told you of, for 7 thought

it of no use :—You alwa}-s had some unsatisfactory way of getting

out of them, which always led me to doubt, your ideas were much

clearer than you supposed them to be. Pap has heard things he

keeps to himself, for he said, speaking of you, it would all be known

for a great many were interested. What he meant 7 do not know,

for 7 had not the courage to ask for fear it was something worse than

7 have yet heard. He has such a way of asking questions about

you when we are alone, 7hate to be with him alone. He said too,

you had done a meaner act-than highway robbery-to have

a motherless child so scandalized. 7 have told you all now, so if you

think proper you will know how to write to him. Write soon—Your»

(Signed) M. E. SKREVE.

Write all you can in your answer, for we had better stop writing

for awhile. 1 would like to know what people are saying about ms

here, but 7 dread to enquire. Yours truly.

EXECUTION OF THE PRISONER*

On the morning of the 13th inst., the clay fixed for his execution i

we visited the prisoner in jail. He persisted that his life had been

falsely sworn away—that he cared not for his fate—he w'as prepared

to meet it, and hoped his nerves would not fail him on the occasion.

In the meantime he called for brandy, which was supplied him, and

of which he drank freely, though without visible effect. 7n the

interval, the Rev. Mr. Fitzpatrick, of the M. E. Church, arrived at

the prison ; but the convict appeared to manifest an indifference to

any interview with him. He only conversed with him in a low

whisper a short time before being conducted to the place of execu¬

tion. The principal portion of his time, up to the hour of being led

5i

6ut of prison, was devoted to giving directions in regard to the ma'rr- agement and arrangement of his personal matters. The hour fixed

for his execution was 12 o’clock, iM.. but at his earnest solicitation,

Ad the kindness of Wm. G. Miller, Esq., the Sheriff of the county X further time of near an hour was granted, to allow him time to’

transact business and write a sealed note, not to be opened until after Ms death, /is purport was simply in regard to the disposition of hia body, and some other immaterial matters.

.Near 1 o'clock, the cortege left the jail, guarded by a volunteer

Corps of musketry, under Captains T. B. Massfe and Swindler, h is said that near five thousand persons were present, and it was with the utmo.-t difficulty that order could oe preserved. But for the pre¬

caution of the guard in affixing bayonets to their guns, they would

doubtless have been trampled on by the dense crown] of horsemen

in their rear. The prisoner was placed in the. hollow square formed by the guard, and accompanied by the Sheriffs, their posse, and the

Rev. Mr. Fitzpatrick, who, when about leaving the jail, was requested

by the prisoner to accompany him to the place of execution. Being arrived there, he ascended to the platform with a firm step, and after*

A short prayer by the minister, was informed that if he had anything to say a sufficient time would be allowed him lor the purpose. He. fumed at once to (he hundreds by whom lie was surrounded, and in'

a clear and distinct tone of voice, manifesting neither fear or excite¬

ment, spoke as follows ; or in words to the effect that he appeared before them to-day as a man whose doom was fixed, and who had

but a few moments to sojourn on this earth ; but he wished to say a few words in his own delence. He protested 'hat he was guilty of

fhe murder of his wife—said that his life had been falsely sworn

aWay through prejudice and ill will on the part of some of his en¬

emies, and That they bad created a feeling of popular excitement against him which had aided materially in bringing him to bis pres¬

ent sad fate. He conceded that be had had a fair and impartial trial

by the jury—be blamed not them, but there were witnesses who had

sworn falsely against him, and he would name them. (Here the prisoner enumerated several.) Other witnesses had also told all they

knew or thought would operate to his detriment, carefully withhold-'

to* anything which would speak in his behalf. He was not the murderer of his wife —he did not give her the strychnia,—he believed

fhat his own life had been in danger from the machinations of her

friends, and the crime was committed by orte of a darker hue than

himself—(evidently alluding to a servant g:rl on his place.) As to his friends in Loudoun, he had but little to say. The young lady

whose name had been so freely spoken of in connection with his,

was innocent of man}' of the charges preferred against her—though

chargeable with some.

The prisoner then turned to Sheriff Jliiller, and said “he wat?

ready.’’ The noose was adjusted about his neck, the trap sprung,

and the unfortunate being was launched into eternity.

'K, -1 tat is'S'

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